Severed
by The Winterborn
Summary: A dual perspective story set two years after the end of the Fifth Blight. Elaria Surana is trying to rebuild when so much is lost. An unexpected visit from her King changes everything and sets her off on a quest not just to save herself but the ones she loves. PC/Zevran. Dragon Age: Origins and Awakening spoilers abound. Mature Content.
1. Chapter 1

**_notes:_**_ Hello! I'm very new to the world of fan fiction but Dragon Age: Origins has always captured my imagination. So here I am! Putting some of those distant images into a (hopefully!) clear storyline. Spoilers for Origins and Awakenings abound. Also a warning that this is going to go to some pretty dark places and is certainly not for the faint of heart! So I hope you enjoy reading as much as I am enjoying writing it, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Thank you for reading. ^_^ Winterborn 3 _

_Elaria, Dragon: 9:32, Vigil's Keep, Ferelden _

* * *

Elaria Surana, Commander of the Grey Wardens and Hero of Ferelden ran her hand over her knotted, unkempt hair. Nimble fingers quickly found the aching part of her neck and gently massaged. In front of her sat the daunting pile of paperwork that had been unattended since the beginning of the fifth blight, neglected first by Duncan and then by Elaria herself. It had gone on too long. Accounts had to be settled, letters answered, actions explained and on top of all of this sat the everyday problems of running the Arling of Amaranthine. After the valiant death of Seneschal Varel it had become evident how vital the man had been in keeping her lands in check. She desperately needed someone to fill that very large hole but no-one even come close. It seemed this would be an ongoing theme in her life; loosing the men that she needed the most.

Elaria sighed. She had spent the last month within the walls of her study, only leaving when it was desperately required of her. A cot had been placed in the corner of the room; it was graced with her exhausted body far more often than the huge four poster bed just up the stairs. From the moment she saw it she had hated it. Its vastness mocked her small and lonely frame. Her study had been just as extravagantly furnished but when she had taken up residence she had sold most of the things, bar a huge iron-wrought brazier and the mahogany desk. Now she wished she hadn't. The bare stone walls of Vigils keep did not enough to keep off the damp coastal air and the fire constantly burning in her hearth did little to help. The tapestries may have been overly opulent for a Warden Commander's study but at least they kept off the cold. The minimalistic air of the cavernous room reminded her of the Circle and her long entrapment within that gilded cage. Being the Commander of the Grey, however more freeing it appeared to be, was just as much a jail. Imprisoned in a shrine of responsibility, duty and most importantly vigilance. _In peace, vigilance. If this is what vigilance is then I don't think I'm cut out for peace_._ I'd take the blasted Blight again over all this bloody paperwork._ Though part of her appreciated being absorbed in the writing, it put her thoughts on a leash so that they did not wonder to darker places.

Another sigh and somehow she found the motivation to pick up her quill. _ I am unaware as to why I did not perish when I slew the Archdemon. Perhaps your scholars could research this phenomenon...I am sorry to inform you that your son did indeed perish at Ostagar, you have my condolences. Know that his sacrifice will not be forgotten...I can spare you three masons and an architect for a month but no longer... Emissaries are the darkspawn equivalent of mages. Their powers are mostly entropic and therefore concerned primarily with weakening their opponents...We will gladly accept any capable warriors who wish to join the Grey Wardens. _

Hours passed with her head bowed down in concentration. The silence was only punctuated by the occasional moan or sigh that came unbidden from her lips and the scratching of quill on parchment. She deliberated over every sentence, sometimes re-reading what she had written, rolling the paper up and throwing it into the fire.

It was dark before she realised it. She had missed lunch and her stomach growled it's disapproval at her. Taking a taper from the brazier she lit three candles on her desk, attempting to ignore the protests of her body. _Just two more responses then food, then sleep. _If indeed sleep would come. The nights had been particularly difficult in this place. The wind howled endlessly around her tower room and her troubling thoughts were just as eternal and twice as loud.

A knock roused her from her work. Her unused voice crackled a hoarse, "enter."

Anders sidled into her solar. Elaria gave him a glance and went back to her letter to the Revered Mother of Amaranthine. The woman seemed uncomfortable with the thought of mages in her own words 'being unattended and in positions of great responsibility and care.' She had offered to dispatch a templar for each of the magic users 'just to be safe.' Elaria was having a hard time being civil with the woman and was weighing every word, looking for unchecked spite. Anders coughed.

"What do you need Anders?"

"Need? Why does there have to be a need?" She gave him another look and noticed that the mage seemed unusually nervous. He had not taken the seat opposite but instead prowled the floor before her desk like a thespian onstage.

"Your countenance suggests..."

"The King is coming. He'll be here within the hour."

Elaria put her quill down and for the first time truly surveyed Anders. He had quit his pacing but it seemed his nerves had moved from his legs to his face. His lip was getting bit to the point where she worried he may draw blood.

"And why have you come to tell me this? You're a Grey Warden, a mage, not a messenger." Anger crept into her tone and he could feel her frosty green eyes cut through him as surely and as deftly as though she had wielded a sword.

"Have you eaten today? I don't know if a Hunger Demon is a thing but..."

"Quit deflecting with humour. Why have _you_ come to tell me this Anders?"

He took a deep breath which seemed to steady him slightly.

"I think you should tell the King."

She let his words hang in the air for a few seconds. For the first time since he'd entered his eye's found her own, and quickly looked away.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific than that."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Her lips pursed without leave from her to do so. She felt her chest tighten and her throat go dry. Anders risked another glance, this time he met her gaze. She was the one to look away. Her hands reached for the wine decanter on her desk and she poured herself a large glass. She did not offer Anders one.

"You swore to me that you would never talk about this to anyone. Perhaps I didn't make it clear that this included me." He gapped at that, his planned retort turning into small noises of displeasure. The large gulp of wine was rich and velvety on her tongue but landed in her empty stomach like a stone. If the feeling had not been so familiar she might have retched. She took another sip to try and stop her shaking hands.

"But what if he can help you? He's the King he must be able to do something. To...to..."

"If Alistair is coming to Amaranthine without prior warning it probably means he will have more important matters to discuss."

Anders slumped, defeated. She wanted nothing more than to comfort him at that moment, to tell him that it would be alright, that she had it all under control, that she was his Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, slayer of abominations and archdemons and nothing would stand in her way. She couldn't. She didn't want to lie.

"Come on Anders. We've got a lot to do before Alistair gets here."

* * *

An hour was not enough time to get Vigil's Keep ready for the presence of a King. If Alistair had known the chaos he had caused within her house he probably would have turned up unannounced. She had been told that the cook had gone wild with rage at the lack of good fare he had to feed the King. Several ornate Orlesian glasses bore the brunt of his fury but he seemed to have settled down now, if the smell of honey roasted parsnips was anything to go by. Silvia Renfish, her wizened elven housekeeper, was barking orders that could be heard echoing around the inner courtyard. It seemed the whole of her small household was in attendance. Servants and Wardens stood shoulder to shoulder, all pushing for a chance to greet their King. A mailed gloved hand hit her with slightly too much force in the small of her back, forcing her out of her reverie.

"All this fuss for that little pike twirler," Oghren grunted. He was swaying slightly, but that was not unusual for the drunken little Dwarf. In his hand was a flagon of his own homebrewed mead.

"He is the King of Ferelden now Oghren," though inside she couldn't help but smile.

"Aye but bet he's still twirling that pike," the dwarf snorted a laugh and took another swig, spilling some of the foul smelling liquid on his armour. "It's good to see you though Warden. They keep you so cooped up in there the men was starting to think you was dead. I told 'em you weren't though. " The dwarf burped heartily and Mistress Woolsey, who was standing in front of them, turned to glare at him disapprovingly. Before Elaria had to save Oghren from her chiding however the boy sent to the outer parapets to watch for the Kings arrival came running into the courtyard.

"The King's nearly here. Five minutes at most."

Suddenly she was surrounded by her friends and Wardens. Nathaniel Howe and Anders stood waiting to her left. Sigrun gave her a smile as the remaining Grey Wardens of Ferelden lined up to greet their King. Elaria was surprised at the silence; these people were genuinely anticipating his entrance. It often left her with a strange feeling that she could not place when people held her and Alistair in such high reverence. She knew he felt the same.

"All kneel for Alistair of House Theirin, King of Ferelden, the First of his name," the herald's voice rung around the walls of the keep as Alistair and his small retinue of Knights made their ascent towards the door of the castle. Her whole household kneeled as one with the exception of Oghren.

"I aint getting my knees dirty for that sodding nug humper," he muttered so only she could hear.

As Alistair got closer she could see the discomfort wrought onto his face. He had settled down into his role of King much better than she originally anticipated, though how one is supposed to get used to a hundred people bowing at your entrance Elaria did not know. During the six months she had spent in Denerim they had talked many a wine fuelled evening away on the subject of governance and politics, but very little could prepare Alistair for the actuality of being King. He took the steps two at a time and stood in front of her.

"Your Majesty," she said a sardonic smile playing around her lips.

"Oh don't you start Elaria," he whispered to her. She surveyed him for a second, his new golden armour shone in the light of the fires, the Theirin coat of arms emblazoned on the breastplate in rubies. The burgundy cloak that fluttered behind him was travel worn and muddy from the autumn roads. His face was care worn, wrinkles had found their way to the corner of his eyes but as he smiled he looked ever the Alistair she had always known. He put out his hand and bid her and her household to rise. She took his hand and was surprised to find herself thrust into his armoured arms. She felt herself tighten at this unexpected proximity though her household seemed to approve this display of affection between their King and their Commander, from the great roar that went up. Alistair released her and turned to address her household.

"People of Vigil's Keep. I thank you heartily for you warm reception," another cheer which Alistair had to silence with a raise of his hand. "I'm sure my men will appreciate your food and fires, though I have urgent business with your Commander that must be attended."

Elaria met Anders' look with one that said; "I told you so."


	2. Chapter 2

_Zevran, Dragon 9:32, River Sesia somewhere between Antiva City and Seleny._

* * *

Sleep had never been kind to Zevran Arainai at the best of times. Nights on feather beds had gone by without him drifting off so how he'd expected it to happen on the flea ridden bunk he shared with the snoring oarsman he'd never know. Resolving that it was better to be up than left alone with his mind in the dark he arose. The superb drakeskin armour his Warden had given him had become like a second skin, his quick fingers found the straps and hooks even in the complete blackness. He crept past the sleeping bodies of the twenty or so rivermen who had been too unlucky to draw a bunk in the large communal room under the deck. The close quarters of so many drunken bodies had made the room reek of wine and piss. Ascending through the creaky wooden hatch and into the cool fresh air of the Sesia was a relief.

_The Antivan Whore _was a whippy cutter of a riverboat but the poor winds had meant that the voyage had mostly been undertaken with man-power. This had slowed the crew's progress to a painstaking crawl and Zevran was not an elf known for his patience. Nearly a month he had spent on the boat already and though he had Captain Kalliste's assurance that they were no more than a day away from the town of Seleny, he had his doubts. The time had gone so slowly and the lack of occupation was putting him on edge. Kalliste had warned him that the journey may not be safe, that these shores were plagued with pirates and slavers who would plunder any weaker looking ship. Zevran was at the point where he longed to plunge his dagger into the heart of some foolish scavenger, anything to quell the boredom, but alas the boat had remained quietly unmolested and Zevran had remained tense.

The night was silent and undisturbed. The cool winds coming off Rialto Bay that had propelled them forward for several days had ceased weeks ago leaving the evenings with an eerie stillness punctuated only by the lapping of water against the boat. The sailors had fallen into a drunken slumber hours before, so there was not even their rabble to break the endless silence. Only Kalliste's personal guardsman, Ilum Stray, kept the night watch. He was the most unlikely to break the peaceful pre dawn as any of the sailors, what with his lack of tongue. The man gave Zevran a thoroughly distrustful look and then continued to doze by the torchlight. The assassin stalked wordlessly passed him to the bow of the boat.

In the daylight you could see for miles in all directions, though why you would want to see endless uninhabited swampland was beyond him. Along the way there had been very little to break up the monotony of brown and green save for the occasional flooded settlement. The ancient stones of the ruins had long been infiltrated with the pines that grew along the banks this close to the Sesia's source. The stars were particularly bright in the way they only seem to be in autumn. He had spent many a night on the bow, tracing and naming the constellations that his Warden had taught him under the Ferelden skies. Here in Antiva, of course, they were slightly different but they still made Zevran feel at ease. Elaria had once told him that a Tevinter mage, whose name escaped him, had hypothesized that every star in that cavernous vastness was another of the Makers worlds. To say that this one, beautiful as it was, was only one of thousands, perhaps millions, was a heresy the Chantry could not abide. He had burned alive for his dangerous ideas, but Zevran felt that there was something very fitting in his theory.

The assassin found his mind wondering down many familiar paths that always ended in the same destination; _Elaria_. Just the thought of her name brought a queasy unsure feeling in pit of his stomach. He had done her a great ill leaving Denerim the way he had, an incessant and possessive night of passion, then gone before she had a chance to wake. _She deserved so much better than that _he thought_._ Zevran would not liked to have been present when she'd awoke to found him gone, the mage had a terrible temper that even the bravest of their companions had quailed in the face of. _She probably made mincemeat of poor Alistair_, though in truth he doubted whether the Templar had the courage to confess the part he'd played in Zevrans disappearance. He had sent a letter when he reached Antiva, through Isabela who was loading up with Antivian Wine and heading back to Denerim to make a tidy profit. He had no way of knowing if his Warden had even gotten it and he certainly had received no reply. The sound of footsteps behind him made his sword hand twitch but he soon recognised the light steps of the ships elven captain.

"You'd sleep much better in my cabin Zev."

He smiled as he turned to face the lithe elven beauty. The distinctive tight-fitting blue armour of Isabela's widespread crew accentuated the curves of Kalliste's toned body. He thought that it would be a difficult task to stay faithful to his Warden being in the company of such women as the one in front of him. Though his elven mage had extracted no such oath from him and he knew she would never have even dreamed of doing so. When it came to it he found himself unexcited by the prospect of bedding anyone who was not Elaria. Still, there was no harm in playing the game. The captain was helping him a great deal after all.

"You are a wicked temptress."

"Then why not give into temptation," her accent was just as Antivian as his though she had the lilt that her early days with the Dalish had given her. She came close enough to touch the breastplate of his armour and left her hand on his chest. Putting a mask of tense fright onto his face he grasped her hand in his own.

"I fear for what the Warden would do to us if she found out. She's such a cruel mistress." Kalliste scoffed letting go of his hand, a look of disdain crossing her face.

"I see right through you Arainai," she smiled as she stood next to him looking out into the darkness. "She must be quite the woman to worm her way into that stone heart of yours."

"Ah, you wound me with you perceptiveness my lovely Captain," he turned to face the vast night before them himself. She was indeed lovely, especially when the torchlight caught her hungry sapphire eyes just so.

"You don't really talk about her much; most men I know wouldn't shut up if they'd fucked the Hero of Ferelden."

"I can assure you I am not like most men."

"See there you go again, deflecting." She had a playful tone in her voice but Zevran knew that he was treading a thin wire, he liked the woman well enough but trusting her was another matter entirely. Trust was always another matter entirely for Zevran. He feigned an exasperated sigh.

"I can see that there will be no easy way of dispensing with your questioning. What do you wish to know?"

"If you loved her so much then why are you here?" It was not the question he had expected. Most people wanted to know about _her_; _what was she really like? Was she really a blood mage? How exactly did she kill the archdemon? Did she use a sword? Magic? Is it true that she wore heavy armour and wielded a sword like a warrior? Was it true that the King was in love with her? That she was carrying his bastard child?_ He'd rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth through the senseless gossip mongering that the Antivian whores loved so much.

"That is not such an easy question to answer." The truth of it was that Zevran knew his peace in Denerim could only last so long. Soon the Crows would hear the rumours that freely circulated the Ferelden court of the then Royal Advisor and her Antivan lover. It would only be a matter of time before they put the puzzle together and realised he was alive and then what? A murder of crows would sweep down on the Royal Palace. Zevran was adamant that it would not play out like that. _Better to take the fight to the Crows than wait for them to descend when we least expect it._ Alistair had provided the final push when he'd privately told Zevran that when Elaria went to Amaranthine it would be '_unseemly for her to take her lover_.' The assassin had laughed at that until he'd seen the deadly seriousness in the Kings eyes. The Divine of Orlais had written Alistair a stern letter condemning his appointment of the lands of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, and thus to a mage. There had been a passage that Alistair had even shown Zevran. Apparently the gossip of the two elves' '_debauchery in the eyes of the Maker_,' had reached even the lofty, frail ears of the Divine Beatrix III. Zevran had only to read the line '_make her a suitable marriage or part them. This is the will of the Maker,' _to know that his peace in Denerim was fully ruptured.

"We both had things to do. I do intend to go back for her, if of course we don't all perish."

This seemed enough to satisfy her curiosity, at least for now. Zevran sneaked a glimpse at his companion and couldn't help but notice that he had an excellent view down the Captains armour. She was unusually voluptuous for an elf, especially with such a delicate frame. Zevrans hand automatically went to his right ear, fondling the replica earring that his Warden had given him to match the one he had given her; the representation of his unuttered promise. He had found his hand seeking it out during every one of his temptations, as if to remind him of the woman he'd left behind.

"Doesn't stop you from looking I see," she grinned seductively and Zevran sighed.

"A man may have a favourite painting but does that mean other great artworks cannot catch his eye? No?" Her laugh was as perfumed and light as her hair as it broke the complete stillness of the night. "So it seems I have given you a truth, yes? And what will you give me in turn? Truth seems to demand truth."

"And what truth would you have of me, Zevran?"

"When I told Isabela of the nature of my quest she was very quick to give me your name. Why? What do you get out of this?"

Kalliste raised a perfect eyebrow. "I owe Isabela my life; any friend of hers is a friend of mine."

"Not exactly a lie but not the whole truth either, you are very cunning my dear. Come now, say, I think there must be more to it than that."

It was Kalliste's turn to sigh, her lips tightened and her face seemed to withdraw into herself. In this light Zevran could not see the silvery scar that traced its way down her right cheekbone, but he knew when she pouted thus it exaggerated itself.

"I'm doing it for Rinna."

Zevran had ceased being surprised by anything but this revelation certainly required an explanation. He had learned long ago that keeping silent was the best way to yield answers and he had always been rewarded.

"She was Dalish. Did she never tell you that?"

Zevran's words caught in his mouth and made him grit his teeth. He shook his head.

"We grew up together," she continued, "With a Dalish tribe, the Faedirnen, wondering the Green Dales just south of here." Her eyes glistened with tears and fixed to a point, as though she could still see it all in slowly lightening sky. "It seems so long ago. I swear it's been twenty years. I don't remember much of life there, other than Rinna; we were so young when the slavers came." It was a story that Zevran knew well. Slave owners from all over Thedas would pay a high price for a Dalish child. This resulted in the slavers of Tevinter and Antiva tracking and hunting the nomadic elves like game. The compliant were captured. The violent, killed. "We we're lucky enough to be sold as a pair. Virgin Dalish girls go for a pretty high price in Antiva, or so I am told." She was silent for a while and Zevran could not help himself, Rinna had always told him she remembered nothing of her childhood.

"What happened?"

Kalliste inhaled then exhaled deeply. "We were sold to the Pleasure House of Antiva to be trained in the seven sighs. They start educating as young as possible so that they can boast the best whores in Thedas."

"How old were you both?"

"I was seven, she was nine." Zevran made a disgusted face and she laughed.

"They don't make you know a man until you're thirteen. Our maidenheads were to go to the highest bidder, though not many can afford a virgin trained in the seven sighs." She gave Zevran a smile dripping with sexual intent which, if he has been feeling less anxious, would have certainly made his hand go to his right ear. "Rinna was extremely unhappy about this arrangement; she was always so wilful and untameable, in their words. When her virginity was brought by a fat and foul smelling merchant prince she was furious." Her grin turned deadly. "She got her own back though."

"How so?"

"She bit off his cock." Zevran's eyes widened as Kalliste laughed heartily. The tears that had collected with sadness in her eyes ran freely down her cheeks with joy. "You should have seen the first Madams face; none of her slave girls had ever shown the slightest disobedience before and now this. Finally they resolved that she had to be sold to The Crows and from what I understand they were delighted to have her." Another sigh escaped her lips. "After that, I know everything that happened Zevran. I know you were her lover. I know how she joined your team on regular basis. I know about you being fed false information that resulted in her death. I want to find out who did it just as much as you do." Her voice had gone cold and hard. The sky above them had brightened as they spoke, sweeps of extraordinary colour began to fill it, hot reds danced with the cool blue of the lightening sky and purples entwined and contrasted themselves with dazzling golden yellows. The river mirrored and refracted the intense hues of this glorious sunrise. They stood in silence as the world became visible around them. Zevran put his hand on her shoulder.

"We shall kill them all, my dear. Do not worry."


	3. Chapter 3

_**notes: Just a warning, herein lies some pretty dark scenes. Please keep that in mind before reading. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think. :) Winterborn **_

* * *

_Elaria Dragon: 9:32, Vigil's Keep._

The winds had begun their nightly howls by the time Alistair and Elaria sat down eat. The mountains of mashed turnip soaked in butter, parsnips roasted in Orlesian honey and wild garlic, suckling pig with its skin still crispy covered with thick sweet onion gravy had been devoured eagerly by the two Grey Wardens. They had eaten in silent appreciation, an atmosphere that only two very hungry people could create. After her servants had cleared away the last of the dishes Alistair motioned for his guards to leave them. Elaria saw the wary look in the old Knights eyes, but he did not question his Kings command. As soon as they were gone Alistair let out a long sigh and seemed to relax a great deal. He had changed out of his armour and into a doublet of red velvet slashed with golden silk, the colours of the Theirin family. Over one shoulder was a matching crimson half cape fastened with a golden broach in the shape his house's sigil; a snarling mabari hound.

"So, what brings his majesty in such an urgent haste to our cold keep?" Elaria smiled a full and genuine smile for the first time in a long time; picking on Alistair always reminded her of better times. She got to do it precious little these days.

"I shouldn't even bother rising to your bait should I?" He laughed back at her. "I don't suppose you've got any more wine? Being King give's you quiet a thirst you know." They both laughed this time. "Maker, it's good to hear that cackle of yours again 'Ria. No-one laugh's properly in Denerim, it's like their too afraid someone might hear." She grinned warmly at him as she poured more wine.

"Now, seriously Alistair, why are you here?"

"It's all work, work, work with you isn't it. You're just like Arl Eammon."

"Oh yes I am _exactly_ like Arl Eammon aren't I?" She snorted sarcastically. "Now come on, tell me before I get impatient." Alistair took a swig of wine and looked as though he were thinking very deeply.

"Markus Pentaghast is dead."

Swirling the rich fruity wine in her mouth she tried to remember why that name rang a bell.

"The ruler of Nevarra?"

"The very same. He was assassinated."

"Crows?"

"Almost certainly."

"Dark wings, dark deeds," she muttered. "But what has this got to do with you?"

He drained his cup and filled it again. "My spies in Orlais have it on good authority that there was a failed attempt on the life of Empress Celene on the same night as the successful one on Pentaghast."

"You have spies in Orlais?"

"I'm trying to be serious here Elaria."

"I am beginning to see the connections. And have _you_ had a visit from the murderous crows?"

"Yes."

"Well, they are getting shoddy aren't they?" _Now who's deflecting with humour,_ Anders voice said in her head, he tried to ignore him.

"They killed two of my best men trying to get to me," the look of hurt on Alistair's face was touching. "Maker knows I need answers."

Elaria had always had a quick mind and she was beginning to see where this discussion was going. The very thought of it made her feel a sickness in the depths of her stomach that she had to fight to keep off of her face. Had Alistair been more perceptive he would have noticed her seizing up, going hard, like stone.

"Elaria, I'm just going to some right out and say this. I need you to go to Antiva. I need you to find out who's hiring the Crows to target Rulers."

It was like someone had hit her in the stomach. Worse than any physical pain she had ever felt and she had felt a lot. Like her mind and body were being wrenched in opposite directions, a rendering of the soul. She managed to squeak out a very faint, "I can't."

Alistair looked gravely confused. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to go to Antiva, to get out of here, to find Zevran, if you must."

His name was the final lance in her heart. She could stand the intense build up no longer. A sob escaped her lips and she had to blink to keep back the stinging tears that threatened to spill. He reached out his hand to touch hers and she flinched out of the way. He came round to her side of the table slowly as she struggled to keep her emotions contained. He knelt before her and tried to take her hand again. This time she let him, her watery green eye's meeting his. She grasped his hand tightly, drawing strength from his strength.

"I cannot go... please..." was all she could manage before the wracking sobs tried to take her body again. She fought so hard to keep them down that she felt like her stomach was bubbling with rising acid.

"Elaria tell me what's wrong."

Another wave of anguish and pain, another heavy release of breath and choke of sobs and this time she was too weak to fight it, tears came trembling down her cheeks.

Alistair was astounded. He has seen this woman face certain death and laugh in its face. Seen as she faced down the abomination that had destroyed the only home she had ever known. Seen her slay countless monsters that, were it not for the grace of the Maker, she could have become herself. Seen as she reunited two separate fractured Kingdoms, neither of which were her own race, in the desperate need for forces to defeat the blight. Seen as she had slit open an Archdemon's throat with a roar that still haunted his dreams today. Seen as she fell in love, waged war, discussed politics like a well educated noble. Not once through all of this had he ever seen her cry. He was lost. He put his hand underneath her chin. She was small enough that he could stroke the still falling tears away with his thumb.

"Please tell me Elaria. I'm worried about you." She shook her head slowly looking down as she did. He lifted her head back up so their eyes met.

"I could command you to tell me," he said softly, "I'm King now, we can do that you know." He tried a small smile but this just made her dissolve completely. Alistair had never been good at dealing with weeping women but instinct told him to embrace her. She leaned against his strong warm shoulders and surrendered to her emotions in a way she never had before. She had been aware of this terrific sadness bottled up inside her for some time, but nothing had occurred to pull off its cork until Alistair had asked her to go to the very place that had caused her trauma.

She felt as though she'd been crying forever when she came to in the templar's arms. Minutes could have mingled into hours by the time the involuntary sobs stopped tensing her body. She tried to wipe her face on the sleeve of her leather armour.

"Here let me," she felt like a child as Alistair dabbed at her cheeks with his sleeves.

"Thank you." The mage disentangled from his embrace and moved back onto the chair that he had pulled her off. Following her lead he went back to his own seat across the table.

"Are you alright?" Alistair said as he poured them both a large glass, emptying the bottle of wine, eye's flickering between her and the task.

"Evidently I am not." She gulped hers down greedily; it helped to take the sharp edge off her feelings.

"Can you tell me why?"

Elaria exhaled long and low, a sound filled with defeat and exasperation. "You don't want to know, Alistair believe me. Any more than I want to tell you."

"People come to me every day with their banal issues. You're the Hero of Ferelden, if it hadn't been for you...well I don't want to even think about it. Please tell me what's wrong, I swear if there's any way I can help you I will." His earnest pleas touched a part of her that she thought she had sealed away. She felt herself yield.

"I don't even know where to begin," she felt herself beginning to shake again, she closed her eyes and took and deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm her pounding heart and sweating palms. _If I tell him it will make it true._ She tried to dismiss the nonsensical thought but none of her logical plasters seemed to fit over this particular wound.

"What about at the beginning?" Alistair gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"It was after..." she tried to begin but broke off. Words had always come so easily to Elaria but this gift deserted her now. _How am I supposed to convey all of this as though it were a story? What language is suitable? How much should I really tell him? Could Alistair really handle the horrific truth? Could she, and should she, soften this blow for him?_ She felt herself welling up again and again she could not fight it. Tears poured silently down her face. "After the darkspawn, after the Architect, after everything..." She knew she wasn't making much sense but her mind was whirling with a thousand different beginnings and ends, the lies and half truths that she had told herself to hide the true reason for her depression. Alistair leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk.

"Go on Elaria. It's alright," he said reassuringly. She mustered a smile from somewhere deep inside her and bit back the sobs.

"Bann Esmerelle she...she...when she tried to have me assassinated," the words caught in her throat like daggers. "We thought we killed all the Crows but we didn't." She took a long drain on her wine, trying to stop her heart thumping so hard against her ribs. The alcohol seemed to be focusing her mind a little. "Though now I'm not sure it was even connected. At the time we were so sure it had to be her doing." _It was naive of me to think only one group of people would want me dead._ She shifted about uncomfortably under Alistair's intent gaze. "Everyone was celebrating that night. The wine was flowing, there were even bards from Highever." _It had all been too much like Denerim after the Blight, too much like the happiest six months of my life, too much like...home._ "The music grated one me; I had a pounding headache and had too much on my mind for drink." _Too much Zevran on my mind._ "I went up to the bastion tower; it's always so quiet there..." The daggers came back to her throat as it restricted and stopped her speaking. Convulsions came again but there were no tears left within her. She was dry and raw. "I let my guard down for one stupid minute. Why I went anywhere unarmed and unarmoured...It's my own fault this happened." Anger was a more familiar emotion to Elaria than this great void of depression, she let it's fires kindle her speech.

"Sssh 'Ria," Alistair said soothing, grasping her hand over the desk. "Calm down. It's alright. I'm here."

"I first realized something was amiss when I heard the drawing of a bow behind me. I turned to face my attacker but it was too late." Her hand automatically went to her scar just below her ribs. "Ander's said it saved my life, turning like that, if I hadn't the arrow would have caught me in the lung." She paused to take a sip of wine, trying to summon the words for what she had to say next. "At first I couldn't believe what had happened. I was so confused, so shocked. But instinct took over I reached for the fade and there was... nothing..."

"Nothing?" Alistair repeated in shock.

"It was the strangest feeling, like part of me had been broken off. I kept desperately pressing to conjure something, some fire or ice, I even grasped for a healing spell but the fade...it was just... no longer there." She stifled the howl that frantically crawled up her throat, _I must go on I have come too far to go back now_. "When he started to laugh at my floundering attempts I knew he had done something, some sort poison. It was worse than Magesbane, so much worse...He..." _Maker give me strength there was no easy way to say this._ "He was talking for such a long time, I was in agony and so confused. I don't remember anything he said." _Such an easy lie, she remembered one thing. One thing that made her shudder so deeply that she couldn't dare vocalise it._ "He seemed half mad with rage, not the cool calmness that you'd expect from an assassin but his accent... definitely Antvian. He came close enough for me to smell his breath. I was on the floor by now. There was blood everywhere, my blood. I've never felt so weak...so afraid," She gulped, desperately trying to get some air into her aching lungs. "I remember begging him to stop, asking why he didn't just kill me; he just laughed in my face." _And he'd spat the name Zevran Arainai in my face_. "He took out a dagger, I thought that this was it. I went inside myself then," _back to the Brecilian forest, back to my first time with Zev. "_He... he...he.." _Keep going you can do this_. "He t..tore off my gown...he..," she felt so raw and her voice turned soft. "He forced me to...he...he..." Her head went to her hands as hot tears came again to her exhausted eyes. "He raped me." As soon as the words were out she let the howl escape her lips. It was such a mournful sound that Alistair got to his feet and took her back into his arms. He made calming noises as she tried to carry on. "Anders," she stammered, "He... came to find me... he...he saved my life and I've been nothing but cruel to him." 

Had Alistiar been less distraught her may of smiled at that, it was just like Elaria, even in her most painful moments, to put others suffering before her own.

"I'm sure Anders understands," he said cradling her head to his chest, trying to run his fingers through her tangled fiery curls.

"He told me...he went straight for him but that bastard was too quick. He jumped the parapets but...they never found his body." A fierce rage propelled her out of his arms. Her fists clenched into the palm of her hands, her sharp nails drawing blood. She did not care. The pain was cathartic.

"How did he survive at least a forty foot drop? He should have been a bloody splatter at the bottom of the tower," she seethed as she paced back and forth. Alistair was at a complete loss now, Elaria was usually a cool sea of logic, though of course every ocean had its storms, her old moods had at least been consistent, to some extent as predictable as the tides. This tempest was different; it seemed to rage from sad to angry at the blink of an eye. "He should be dead...he...he..._deserves_ to be dead." Head in her hands she collapsed to her knees. The complete anguish on her face nearly moved Alistair to tears. He gathered her up once again, lifting her small elven frame over to the cot in the corner and resting her still shuddering body there. She was too exhausted to fight him and she lay down weeping into her pillow as he kneeled next to her bed. He rested his hand on her shoulder, concern radiating from his face. She felt a complete exhaustion that she had not felt in a long time take over her.

"You need to sleep Elaria," his voice was soft and full of compassion. "We can talk more in the morning." As he was turning to leave her he felt her hand grab hold of his wrist. The grasp was fierce and when he looked into her eyes he saw a wild fear he had only seen once or twice on her face.

"Stay, please," she gasped.

"Don't worry, I'll be right here."

She fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**_Notes: Hello there, me again, such a pesky author, with a quick request. If anyone would like to do some proof reading for me I would be eternally grateful: payment in imaginary cookies and digital hugs. PM me if you're interested! Thanks ^_^ Winterborn. _**

_Zevran, Seleny_

* * *

Zevran was soaked. The dark grey rough spun cloak that had done such a good job obscuring his features had done nothing to keep off the down pour. Tensing and relaxing his muscles helped to drive off the cramp and chill that seemed to reach his bones. He had been on the rooftop for hours, crouching, watching, waiting but he was not in the least bit tired, not after the long month it had taken him to get here. The thrill of the chase was in the air and it made him bristle with energy.

The rain had started as soon as they'd moored up on the lake just outside Seleny. It had taken Zevran hours of trekking around the walls of the town in this miserable night just to find a way in. By the time he'd found the sewer entrance he was so wet and caked in mud that he didn't notice the stench. Now the stink of shit was so potent that he worried his mark might smell him coming.

The cobbled streets were deserted and he'd had no trouble at all navigating the sprawling town, though he'd never been there before. He'd found the house he needed quickly enough and ascended onto the roof using some very accommodating barrels. Now he just had to wait. The household kept a lot later nights than he'd hoped for but Zevran bided his time, knowing that his moment would come. He listened carefully.

The widower, Ernesto Messina, had gone to bed an hour before; Zevran had heard his heavy steps ascending the rickety stairs of the old town house. _He was even kind enough to open his window for me._ He'd been sorely tempted to take the man then, but his two daughters were still awake downstairs and Zevran erred on the side of caution. Another hour went by and he worried that dawn would come before he could complete his task. _There is still so much to be done, and it must be done this night._

Just as he was beginning to think that the sisters had fallen into a drunken stupor where they sat, he heard their giggling and shushing and finally slow heavy footfalls on the stairs. Zevran gave them half an hour before he descended on their father like a deathly mist.

It was no easy task getting his footing on the window sill below. The slate beneath him was slippery with rain, and slightly too far for his height. When he managed to get a foothold, he put his weight on it and almost fell saving himself with his cat-like quickness, grabbing the wooden window sill to steady him. He slipped shadow-like and soundlessly into the room.

It took time for his senses to adjust to the dank interior. Messina's bed chamber was unfurnished other than the huge oaken bed that bore his hulking weight. The man slept deeply. Snores rumbled up his double chins and forced their way out of his blocked nose, echoing round the large empty space. It stank of age and piss.

Zevran stalked towards the bed, not making a sound as he drew his dagger. He placed the blade to the man's engorged oesophagus with one hand and used his other to cover his mouth. He awoke quickly to the sharpness at his neck and his milky blue eyes widened in fear.

"I am going to remove my hand from your mouth. If you scream I kill you. Do you understand?" Ernesto nodded as well as he could with a blade at his gullet. Zevran slowly removed his gloved hand from the man's mouth.

"Who are you?" The man spluttered in whispered fear.

Zevran gave a low chuckle that served to further terrify his prey, "I am but a nightmare, tell me what I need to know and you may very well wake up tomorrow...intact."

The old man swallowed at the last word. "Please...I'll tell you anything..."

The assassin smiled under his hood. "This is good. Now, where is Aldo Rossetti?"

Ernesto's fear at that name was palpable; Zevran fancied he could hear the old man's heart pounding faster at the mere mention of it.

" I...I..don't know who you're talking about."

"Braska," Zevran swore as he pushed his dagger more firmly into the man's flesh. "You may be old but not old enough to forget your own brother-in-law. Now tell me where he's hiding or I swear I'll slit you and both your pretty daughter's from jaws to genitals. Now again, where is Aldo Rossetti?"

This time his gulp pushed the knife deeper and an angry red line appeared under the polished silver. The elf could see the man sweating with dread in the moonlight.

"Okay...I'll...I'll tell you where he is...just...please...don't hurt my daughters."

Zevran grinned. _So simple._ "Go on."

"He's in an abandoned mine, just west of here. Follow the road into the Tellari Swamps and you can't miss it. You'll never get to him though; he's guarded by Qunari mercenaries." Zevran promptly removed his dagger from the man's neck with a snigger at the thought that a few of the colossal Tal-Vashoth would be a problem for him. A flabby hand came up to cover the fresh wound.

"If I find out you have lied to me. I will come back and I will not be merciful."

He wiped the thin knife down on his cloak and disappeared into the night the same way that he had come.

* * *

Dawn had broken as Zevran trudged up the muddy western road, if you could call it a dawn. The sun may have breached the horizon but the heavy black rain clouds still loomed over-head, stopping many of its rays punctuating to the boggy humid land. Thankfully the rain had stopped pouring down, at least for the time being.

Zevran had thrown off his sodden cloak after exiting Seleny through the sewer, if the town had been deserted then there was very little chance that there would be anyone to recognise him in the supposedly haunted swamps. On the way to Seleny the Antivian sailors had been full of ghost stories about the child-eating witches that dwelled in these parts. Zevran had only encountered a small pack of wolves that were too hungry and desperate to know when they were beat. He had soon shown them their mistake.

The assassin was beginning to curse the fat merchant for his lies when he smelled the smoke from a fire. He sunk lower to the ground and bent his legs, his footfalls not making a sound as he entered the woodland to his right. He crept closer following his nose, and soon his eyes as the smoke began to appear. Slinking lower he almost crawled up the slight verge and to the outskirts of the clearing.

There were two Qunari. One sat with his back to the opening of the cave behind him, the other was frying slices of bacon in a heavy iron pan over the open fire. The smell of frying flesh made Zevran salivate. _Once this is done a hearty breakfast for me I think._ He stayed in the shadows of the trees, he would have to be patient. Preferably he wanted to take the giant men unawares, creep up behind them and slit both their throats before they could raise any sort of alarm. This would be difficult with their current positioning however, if he snuck up behind one the other was sure to see. He must come up with a plan. The undergrowth extended all the way along the side of the clearing and up to the stone opening, he slunk nearer to the second monster-sized man. When he got close enough to see the horned head of the Qunari he had to stop himself laughing, the man was asleep on his feet. Silently tracing his steps backwards he situated himself directly behind the Qunari chef and enveloped himself in shadow.

The giant's neck was as thick and gnarled as a tree trunk but Zevran had kept the Rose's Thorn sharp. Tendons, muscle and tissue all gave way, as though they were water, to the razor-like blade. Zevran opened the man's throat further by pulling up on his hair, making his life blood flow quicker from his veins. Zevran was absorbed; it had been too long since he had last killed someone and surges of adrenaline shot through him in electric bursts. The big man had died soundlessly and his assassin dropped the corpse to the floor in the same silence. He quickened his pace as he unsheathed Starfang, moving towards the Qunari who still dozed on his feet. He awoke in time to see death come upon him. One final yell and his head became completely severed from his body covering his killer and the surrounding flora in hot sticky blood. His horned skull fell at Zevran's feet as he danced backwards into the cover of the foliage, careful not to leave a trail of blood in his wake. _His shout will bring them out of their cave_ he thought; _maybe I could turn this to my advantage._ His naked blades dripped with blood as he counted under his breath. When he reached seven three more of the Tal-Vashoth emerged from the gloom. He was too far away to hear what they said as they crouched over the bodies of their dead, but he could tell they were seething with rage. One of them shouted orders to the others in their own tongue and soon all three had spread out into the bracken, looking for the killer in all the wrong places. When the stomping sound that the heavily armoured men made had distanced Zevran sheathed both his swords and entered the shaft.

The old mine had obviously been abandoned long ago. The timber that supported the ceiling had begun to mould and split. There were evidences of land falls all round him. He stepped cautiously and lightly in the gloom. Sight was no use to him here so he traced the walls with his finger tips. A sharp veer to his right and he could see a pinhole of natural light that seemed alien in the underground. He crept towards it, ghosting his feet forwards on the uneven rocky ground before he put his weight on anything. Finally the pin-prick became a full oval and Zevran could see the cavernous room that lit up beneath it. As he left the corridor and entered the room he became aware that he was not alone. The cave was illuminated by the cool blue light reigning down from the natural holes in the mines ceiling and the tungsten glow from the torches in brackets all along the walls of the circular cavern. Crude beds had been made out of sacks of flour, some of which had split across the floor. A long table littered with half eaten food and clay crockery sat directly under the shaft of light. Sat at the table was a very angry looking Qunari.

"Braska," Zevran muttered as he enfolded himself in darkness. The horned man gave a roar that echoed around them as he drew his greatsword. _This one must be the commander, if his verdium plate is anything to go by. He will be more fun at least._

The slow moving beast was in the centre of the room, his eyes flashing in the light, searching for him. _Look all you like, you shall not find me._ As soon as the man had his back to him he moved like lightening, striking both blades at once into the weak shoulder joints of his opponents armour. His blows were precise and he felt his dagger punch through skin, yanking it out he leapt backwards. The bleeding warrior growled and swung his sword round in a horizontal swipe that was close to cutting Zevran in two. He danced backwards in time and found his footing gracefully, standing side face and smiling. The Qunari advanced, hacking and slashing but the elf didn't even raise his blades to block, and he simply wasn't there when the greatsword sought him. _I have fought thousands like you my friend and they all get tired of facing shadows in the end. It is only a matter of time._

The time came quicker than Zevran could have hoped. This close to the mercenary he could see the lines drawn out on his face. _This one is old, he should know better than to play this game_. But the man just kept coming, expending his energy in slow brutal attacks that the rouge brushed off as though they were flies, whirling out of the way as they came towards him, as though in slow motion. Sweat beaded on his opponents brow and he began to grunt with the effort of swinging his heavy sword. When he made a half-hearted diagonal sweep Zevran saw his moment. Moving with well rehearsed elegance he blocked the blow with Starfang and plunged his dagger deep into the old man's uncovered jugular. The Qunari looked surprised as blood came bubbling out of his mouth, he tried to say something but his words were so many splatters of red. Zevran lowered the man to his knees. He was dead before he hit the floor. Steadying himself he pulled the Rose's Thorn out of the still gushing neck wound.

Zevran's amber eyes quickly surveyed the room. A double oaken door stood closed to his left, it looked far too new to have been part of the mine. Piles of rubble were strewn all around him and he noticed broken pick axes lay among the stones. _A recent excavation so you could have a private room. How like you Rossetti._ He marched to the door, wiping his bloodied boots on the rags of sacks on the way. Cautiously he pushed it open.

He felt the whirl of the crossbow bolt as it thwanged into the wood of the door, three inches to the right of his head. He rolled his eyes.

"You know the problem with crossbows Rossetti?"

He was across the box sized room in a flash knocking the weapon from the hands of its wielder.

"They take too long to reload," he grinned before he broke Aldo Rossetti's nose across his face.


	5. Chapter 5

_Elaria, Vigil's keep._

* * *

It was still dark when soft paws on her face woke Elaria up. _Tajic? _Her sleep confused mind thought until she remembered, with a stab of pain, that her faithful mabari was dead. She opened her eyes as far as she could manage still stuck together with exhaustion as they were. Warm ginger fur clouded her vision as Ser Pounce-a-lot pressed his face to hers. She shuffled her throbbing head to one side as the cat began to purr curling up on her pillow. _How did I get here? Why didn't I take off my armour? I feel like I've been fighting, I'm so drained._ Wherever the ginger tom went Anders was sure to be and she heard soft voices by the fire, but she couldn't make out the words.

She must've slept. The cat had vanished, but she found herself still awkwardly twisted to accommodate his stretched out form. _How could something so small take up so much room?_ A cold grey autumn light was streaming in through the high tower windows and straight into Elaria's eyes as she opened them. Closing them to the bright assault she turned into a more comfortable position on her back and tried to get sleep to take her once again.

"So it's a permanent change?" Her eye's snapped open at the familiar voice but her weary mind could not place its tones.

"I can't say for definite," _Anders, definitely Anders._ "It could be that the poison was developed especially for this purpose, especially for Elaria. From what I can tell it seems to have latched onto the tainted molecules in her body, it's like they've found a substance that _changes_ the taint forcing it to block the fade. This of course is all theory, there's no precedent for this, Alistair. Not anywhere."

_Alistair? What's he doing here? _It all came back to her in one horrible flash. She had told him everything, well as near to everything as she dared. She lay in a trembling shock as the men continued to discuss her.

"It could very well just be the trauma of...of what happened," the healer continued slowly. "There have certainly been examples of mages emotions being connected to changes in their powers. Having such a close link to demons who feed off these feelings can be...well fatal, though I'm sure you're aware of all that." She heard Anders give a heavy sigh and shift in his fire side seat. "It doesn't really matter, whatever the cause she's certainly not fit to travel to Antiva."

"But if it's trauma then maybe she can find justice there?"

"Justice in Antiva? An oxymoron."

"She has powerful allies there."

"And powerful enemies."

"Look Anders, I want to protect her as much as you do but, Maker help me, she needs to be able to protect herself. If she goes to Antiva maybe she can find some resolution to her problems."

"Some resolution to _your_ problems you mean."

"No!" Alistair exclaimed, his fist punctuating the syllable on her desk. The King let out an exasperated sigh. "Has she really never spoken to you about Zevran? You two seem so close; she must've at least mentioned him?"

Elaria had heard enough. She stretched out her aching joints trying to click the heaviness out of them and swung her legs out of bed. "Can you stop now please?" _Is that my voice? It sounds so weary._

Anders was next to her a heartbeat later and she felt his healing magic flow over her, relaxing every muscle in her body like sinking into a warm bath. _It's so easy for him, the Fade just opens at his demand._ The warden commander had spent many nights in meditation trying to feel the Veil, to probe it, longing to sense its tingling response at her finger-tips, but it was all in vain. Try as she might she could no longer summon even the flicker of a spell and the many hours spent in a cross-legged trance had only served to make her body ache._ I'm weaker than before I was even sent to the Circle, _she grimaced at the thought.

"Are you alright Elaria?"

"I'm fine Anders." She tried a smile at his concerned face and found it came easier than she expected. "I...I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For saving me...for...for everything you've done for me. I..I know I haven't exactly been myself lately." A handsome grin split across the healer's stubble covered face.

"You can say that again."

"I just...I hope someday I can repay you."

"Elaria, for one as lovely as yourself there's very little I wouldn't do." Elaria rolled her eyes but his easy flattery had always reminded her of Zevran and Zevran..._Andraste's flaming tits I miss him_. The elf had always been her rock, her stone. The brutality of his life had left his heart entombed in impenetrable crystal; he had never needed her to be strong for him. He could handle her insecurities, her fears of failure; he'd brush them off with his easy smile and a passionate kiss. He was mentally toughened enough to share her burdens and not lose confidence in her cause. The rigorous Crow training of sacrifice and self-denial combined with his disciplined willpower made him seem almost carved of rock. She had thought she'd reached inside that impenetrable fortress, she thought she'd stood in the courtyard of his cloistered heart as he had in hers. _How could I have been so stupid? Falling in love with an assassin sent to kill me? _

"Elaria, hello? Is there anybody in there?" She realised Anders had been trying to get her attention.

"Sorry, I'm still half asleep."

"I said," Alistair began stretching as he yawned. "Shall we go and get some breakfast? I, for one, am starving."

"Let me wash first," said Elaria, sniffing herself. "I'll meet you both down there."

* * *

Wearing the heavy plate of the Warden Commander, though restricting and far too heavy for her to fight in, made her feel safe, encased as she was in silverite. Winter's Breath, her much loved stave, hung unused on her bedroom wall, instead she equipped herself with Duncan's old dagger and another that she had found in the town on Honnleath. She had tamed her mass of red curls into two plaited buns on back of her head with a quick efficiency that she had learnt on the road. She felt more like her old self than she had in months.

It was more than just dressing in her old armour that made her feel this way. The demons of what had happened to her had been shut away so tightly deep within. She had been positive that acknowledging them, that opening that box of hell, would somehow make it all too _real_. That it would seem less a distant dream that had happened to someone else, that the very act of vocalising it would place her as an eternal victim in the rest of the world's eyes. It hadn't done that at all. It had felt almost...freeing. _I know now what I must do_.

Everybody ate together at Vigil's Keep, she had been adamant about that. There were no servants to stand on ceremony, while their supposed betters ate, waiting and watching with hungry stomachs. Wardens, housekeepers, butlers, chambermaids, guards and today even a King sat together in the Grand Hall on three huge tables that spun the length of it. As she entered many of the people greeted her with smiles or nods. Ander's waved her over and shuffled up to make room for her on the bench between him and Alistair.

The table groaned under the weight of the food, piles of bacon dripping in their own juices, a mountain of scrambled eggs laced with ground black pepper, pork sausages flecked with fragrant rosemary and thyme, mushrooms fried in a thick garlic cream. She felt her stomach groan at the smell and heaped a lot of everything on to her plate, listening to the chatter around her.

Alistair was in his element surrounded by eager new recruits he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the soldiers banter and communal nature of the meal.

"Maybe I should make them eat like this in Denerim; it's so much more...friendly. At the royal palace they make me sit on a raised dais away from 'the rabble,' as they call you." This earned him a laugh from everyone around him other than his stoic captain of the guard.

"But you're the King," said one of the new recruits, _there are so many now I forget his name, Darius maybe?_ "Surely no-one can _make_ you do anything?"

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, "there are some things even Kings can't change. Tradition, it seems, is one of those pesky little annoyances that everyone must put up with. Especially Kings."

Another recruit had obviously been bursting to ask Alistair something and in the pause that followed he took his chance. "Your Majesty?"

"Call me Alistair," he smiled fondly at the young lad who was all nerves and couldn't be any more than sixteen.

"Thank you, your...Alistair." The small group of them broke out in to roaring laughter and the blonde boy blushed red to the roots of his hair. "I...I just wanted to know, was the archdemon the hardest fight you were ever in?"

"Why yes, certainly. But at least we got some training fighting those other dragons, right Elaria? Especially Flemeth, she was a nightmare!"

"You fought the Witch of the Wilds!?" The young warden's eyes opened wide in astonishment, and his mouth gaped.

"Fought _and_ killed. Well, Elaria actually killed her..."

"Not me, Zevran," the truth came unbidden to her lips before she'd even thought about it.

"Who is this Zevran I seem to be hearing so much about these days?" Anders questioned turning to her with a dashing smile.

"He...he was just another of our many companions," she answered quickly before Alistair could chime in; she gave him a threatening look that spoke volumes.

A dirty laugh came from two seats down on her left. She gave an internal groan, she had forgotten about the drunken dwarf. "Now that's not very nice Warden, after he tapped your midnight still for so long..."

"Oghren..."

"After you forged the moaning statue..."

"Seriously..."

"After he donned your velvet cap..."

"I will kill you..."

"You fucked him?" The surprise was clear on Anders' face and she thought she saw a bit of hurt there too.

"Aye, you numbskull. Kept the whole camp awake most nights for half the bleeding Blight those two did. People say I've got bad taste in women; at least I never fucked an elf who tried to kill me..."

"He tried to kill you?" The mage looked at her, confusion writ into every one of his well chiselled features.

"I think that is quite enough about my sex life for one breakfast, thank you very much," she said it with a calmness that she certainly did not feel, stabbing a sausage with her fork. The rest of the meal continued in silence.

She had suspected for a long time that Anders felt more for her than he had let on. The overt envy she had seen him struggle to keep off his face as Oghren had spoke had been apparent to her, who knew him so well. The healer was a handful of years older than Elaria herself, so they had never met at the Circle but that didn't mean she hadn't _heard_ of him. He was almost a myth among the younger apprentices, the harrowed mage who had escaped the confines of the Circle three times before she had even left for the Wardens. She had never met him though, not until she'd turned up at Vigil's Keep and saved him from the wrath of the Circle through the rite of conscription. He'd turned out to be more than just an excellent Grey Warden and their friendship had established itself effortlessly. There had been nights, lying in her cold dark chambers, that she had entertained sneaking into her fellow mages room, loosing herself in his arms, but she knew better than to use someone she cared about so much in such a careless way. _It could be that it would have meant nothing to Anders, that he would have taken me even knowing that I thought of someone else._ She was glad she had never taken that risk.

The majority of the diners had shuffled out of the hall to their various duties by the time Elaria was full. There was still a small group sat around her, they had finished eating, but Alistair had started telling the story of their time in the Brecilian Forest with the Dalish elves. He had a rapt audience; even his usually blank faced Kingsguard seemed interested.

"Can we talk Anders?" she whispered so as not to interrupt the King.

"Of course, what do you need?"

"Let's go to my study."

They left the hall as quietly as possible and walked towards her tower room in silence. As they passed the kitchens she snuck in and stole a bottle of white Orlesian wine. _Wine will certainly make what I have to say that much easier._

When they reached her study she shut the door behind them and poured them each a glass of the sweet drink. The silence had given her enough time to formulate her thoughts and she knew what she had to say. Anders sat in a chair next to the fireplace, relighting it with a flick of his fingers and feeding it with wood. The room filled with the smell of lyrium and burning pine sap.

"Anders, I've decided to go to Antiva," he whirled around to face her, almost scatting his glass into the flames.

"You can't!" He exclaimed, an exasperated look on his face. "You can't even protect yourself. Elaria..."

"And you think that it's better if I stay here? You think that I'm any _safer_ here than I am out there. There are dangers lurking in every corner of the world, I know that after being...attacked in my own home. You were the one who told me to tell Alistair. You said 'he's King he'll be able to help you,' and he _can_ help me. He will give me a ship and some good men so I can go to Antiva and wring the neck of the bastard who did this to me." The tirade had come straight from her gut and bypassed anything her head had to say about the matter.

"I see," Anders shrugged, defeated. Once his Commander was set on something he knew there was no point arguing. She could see his concern for her writ on his face like the pages of an open book.

"I know you've already done so much more for me than I deserve," he tutted and began to interrupt but she raised her hand for silence. "But I have to ask you to do me one last favour, and it's pretty big." In her armour it was awkward to sit on the floor next to him, but she was sick of looking down on him.

"Anything my lo...my friend," he smiled at her warmly.

"I need you to come with me."

"Me...really...to Antiva? Wouldn't it be better to take Nathenial? Or ...or Justice. Yes he'd be a much better companion than me. " She sighed _sometimes you are far more like Alistair than either of you would ever admit._

"If you'd prefer I'd leave you here..."

"No! I didn't mean...I just don't know. I mean Antiva? Is this really a good idea?"

"Oh I'm sure my brave friend Ander's will protect me," she said, baiting him. "I've heard he's a great Grey Warden and a mage to boot. There's no way he'd be afraid of a few crows."

"Bird crows, no. Assassin Crows, yes."

"I think that if I can face going then you can," she spoke softly, changing tactics. "I need you Anders."

He sighed, "Alright...fine...you win. I'll come. But you owe me big time Elaria."

"And here I was thinking you were getting itchy feet."

"Itchy feet to go somewhere _nice_ and _peaceful_ and _warm_."

"Oh I'm sure Antiva is nice and it's certainly warm."

"I suppose two out of three isn't bad."

"Well we'd better get packing then," she said and took a long draw on her wine. "We leave for Denerim tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

_Zevran, Seleny_

* * *

Carrying an unconscious fully grown man, sneakily, whilst three very angry Qunari mercenaries stomped through the swampland looking for him had been difficult but Zevran was made for difficult. He relished every moment of the chase, though he would have much preferred it if hauling the dead weight of Aldo Rossetti was a definite necessity. _It would be terrible luck if it turned out that this lead of mine was cold, it would mean a month and more of wasted time._ The slow moving Tal-Vashoth had not been able to catch Zevran even over encumbered as he was, that is until he reached within bow range of the _Antivan Whore._ The elf had dropped his burden unceremoniously on the rough stony ground and drew both his swords, turning to face the sounds of their footsteps. They came lumbering out of woods and into their deaths before they knew what was happening. Kalliste grinned as she lowered her bow and helped Zevran climb aboard with Rossetti. Zevran turned to look down on her handy work. _Three head shots in as many seconds, this one is as dangerous as she is beautiful._

The captain kicked the bloodied man lightly in the stomach. "Who's our guest?"

"Aldo Rossetti, ex- Whisperer to the Crows." Zevran's body ached. As he stretched his tense muscles his back clicked in relief.

"A Whisperer?"

"Head of the Whisperer's to be precise. They are the Crows intelligence gathers, if we can get him to sing then I'm sure it will be a tune we'd both like to hear." Zevran grinned.

"You mean to torture him." There was no shock or question in her voice; it was a stony faced statement.

"Oh no, my dear. A true Crow would never submit something as precious as knowledge in the face of something banal as pain."

"Then how do you mean to hear this Crow squawk his secrets?"

"I am sure we can come to some arrangement," he yawned. "I have been told I can be very persuasive, yes?" _Arg, it even hurts to smile._ His month of inactivity had made last night a bothersome affair, his whole being throbbed with the pain of being awake. Fighting to stay conscious he continued; "but for now I suggest you bind him, gag him and get Stray to guard him."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to sleep, my dear. Killing is one of the few things that make me tired. Wake me when he regains consciousness. Oh and it's probably best if we leave right away, Antiva City beckons."

He opened the hatch and descended the ladder slowly almost throwing himself onto one of the lower bunks. It stank of all the foul smells a human could create but Zevran did not care._ Sleep._ _How long has it been since I last slept? Sleep: perchance to dream._

"_I need to sleep."_

_"You are asleep."_

_He opened his eyes and he was in their rooms in Denerim. _Home...or the closest thing to home I have._ Warm air drifted in through the open balcony blowing the satin curtains lightly with its breath. It made their sleeping quarters smell like the end of summer, that last gasp of life before the slow decay of autumn. He could hear the rising sound of chanting from the streets below, hushed and eerie, he could make out none of the words. Shrouded in the golden light his Grey Warden stood before him. _Maker, she's more beautiful than I remember._ Her long red hair was pinned messily back from her face showing off her slightly pointed ears and long alabaster neck. She wore a backless silver chemise through which he could see every curve of her body. Her flashing forest eyes looked questioningly down at him. The bed underneath him was more comfortable than he ever remembered it being, like he was delicately supported by clouds. _

_"This is a dream," he heard himself say, though he felt he had been here before; perhaps it was more memory than dream. Elaria moved towards him and lay herself down on his unresisting chest. She ran her nose up against his and kissed him gently on his lips. He sighed heavily and put his arm around her, she was just as soft and warm as the real Elaria. He found he didn't care whether it was dream or not. They fit together like a puzzle, her head in the grove of his chest as though it had been made for her. Her fingers fell as light as snowflakes on his eyelids. _

_"You should sleep. There's still a long way to go."_

_"Go? I cannot see where I should go. My path is hidden from me." He held her close and breathed in her alluring scent of ice and lyrium. _Right now I don't want to go anywhere, _he thought. She ran her fingers through his hair, curling a loose strand gently around one of them. With the softness of butterfly wings she brushed her lips to his forehead._

_"It is already laid before your feet, you cannot falter now." _

_"Elaria," he ran his hands up her neck over trace lines of long healed scars and up her pointed ears. He kissed her deeply and passionately, trying to say what he never could with words, moving his fingers downwards over the smooth pale skin and scar tissue of his Warden's back. When he tried to put his hand under the silken fabric of her dress she stopped him. _

_"Not now. Sleep." _

_He obeyed._

Rough hands pulled Zevran fast from his dreams. This time he opened his eyes to the scarred ragged face of Kalliste's first mate Ilyum Stray. The torch he was holding illuminated his bald head in its harsh light, exaggerating the old man's lines and wrinkles. He nodded at Zevran when he saw he was awake and left him to get up.

Pushing himself out of bed, he wondered how he'd slept so peacefully in such a racket. They had anchored for the night and every one of the sailors was below deck. They sat in small groups, playing cards, arm wrestling or just telling loud and boisterous stories whilst they drank. The air was sharp with the stench of unwashed bodies and stale wine. Zevran carefully picked his way across the crowded floor, with shouts of greeting and mocking following him.

The atmosphere on deck was tinged with the smell of hot rain that had yet to fall. Zevran thought he sensed the humidity and calm that came just before a storm. _Just what we need, _he thought as he stalked across to Kalliste's cabin. They had obviously moved whilst the assassin had slept, the boat was anchored in the middle of the river, either side of them jagged rocks split the surface that, when they had past here last time, the captain had worried would tear out the hull. Stray stood waiting outside the door for him and closed it behind them both after they entered.

The captain's lodgings were smaller than Isabella's on the _Siren's Call_ but otherwise they were almost identical. Violet tapestries graced the walls embroidered with delicate silver shapes that, on closer inspection, were copulating men and women in various, creative positions. The feather bed was piled with furs from various different animals, dyed purple to contrast the silver velvet of the covers. Plump pillows on the mattress whispered of the sweaty passions that they had seen. At the foot of this opulence was a heavy oaken chest carved with swirling patterns that had been stained with a burgundy finish. A desk made of the same wood sat covered in paperwork and stained with blood-coloured wax. In the middle of it all, bruised and battered and tied to a chair, was Aldo Rossetti, awake, despite his injuries. Kalliste sat in the corner, restringing her bow, but carefully watching their prisoner.

Zevran surveyed his ex-comrade properly for the first time since capturing him. The Whisperer had aged terribly in the last three years; his hair, once the colour of midnight, was streaked with a line of grey. The well kept goatee that he used to maintain rigorously had long been overgrown by other stubble. Bronzed skin had become a sallow yellow, stretched over his thin features like a poorly fitting mask. His broken nose had not been attended to, so dried flakes of blood and pus collected on his face.

"_You_?" he almost spat the word at Zevran as his brown eyes met amber ones.

"Yes me, my friend," he smiled down at his captive.

"I am _not_ your friend, Crow."

"And I am no longer a Crow, friend."

The man laughed, it was a wretched sound. "If you're no longer a Crow, then why are you here? If you weren't sent to kill me, which as I am not dead you obviously weren't, then what do you want?"

"Just to talk, Aldo."

"I have nothing to talk to _you_ about."

Zevran tsked and rolled his eyes. "Now Aldo, I think it would be a good time to co-operate. I just need you to answer a few questions and we will let you go."

"And if I refuse?"

Zevran feigned a heavy sigh as he pulled up a chair to sit in front of his bound prisoner. "Then I am afraid I will have to feed you to the fishes of the Sesia. It would be quite the shame, you've been a very difficult man to find, no?" The assassin stared unflinchingly at Rossetti, this close he could hear the man grinding his teeth in frustration.

"It seems I have little choice in the matter," Aldo was fuming with rage but it seemed as though some of the strength went out of him at these words. "Fine, ask me what you wish."

"First, some wine and food for us both, if you wouldn't mind, Stray?" The assassin flung the question over his shoulder. The tongue less man growled in disapproval but with one nod from Kalliste he swung the door open and exited the chamber.

They waited in silence. Zevran drew his dagger and started picking the dirt under his nails, trying to make his exterior calm and cool whilst his head raged with the questions he had to ask. _I am so close to getting answers now, I must be very careful_. Stray returned in not too long a time and Zevran unbound Aldo's hands (_after all there was nowhere for him to run, other than death)_ so he could eat the mouldy cheese and hard stale bread. Once they were done Zevran poured them both a glass of the cheap, vinegary wine.

"I want you to tell me who gave Taliesen the false information that Rinna was a traitor." Zevran tried to stop his heart beating through his chest. _So close now._

The Whisperer laughed. It was a sound that Zevran did not appreciate, a slow drawn out chuckle. He took a sip of wine and slipped on a mask of patience, which he certainly didn't feel.

"Still hung up on that elven bitch..." he felt his fist tighten and was about to break Rossetti's nose all over again but before he could, Kalliste had crossed the room, a silver dagger appearing from no-where in her hands, the sharp point pressed onto Aldo's bobbing throat.

"Keep talking about her like that and I'll skewer out your eyes and feed them to you." The threat was enough and Aldo put up his hands in surrender.

"Alright...alright..." She pulled the knife away but prowled the floor behind him like a lioness in a cage. "Talisien lied to you, there was no false report. You were given a contract that The Crows thought beyond your means so you would get yourself and that wh... that woman killed. Talisien was sent under orders to make sure that neither of you survived."

_Now I'm glad I let Elaria kill him. _Rossetti's answer may have answered one question, but the buds of several more opened up in his brain. "Why?"

The man spread out his hands in front of him. "Why does anyone want another person killed? Revenge, jealousy...love?" A long low sigh escaped his lips. "I know nothing definite, but have heard plenty of rumours."

"Which are?"

"That Rinna was a...a person who was known to be...promiscuous," he chose his words carefully, his eyes trying to shift behind his sockets to where the she-elf still paced. "From what I understand she...she snubbed the wrong man by taking you to her bed."

"Are you telling me that the Crows took a contract out on one of their own?" Kalliste blurted out disbelieving.

"It is not unheard of," Zevran sighed. "I suppose it is too much to ask you for names, yes?"

"Me? I don't know," Aldo replied. "But I do know someone who may be able to help you."

"Who?"

"The Lady of Cats."

A bone chilling guttural sound rent the air and it was a while before the assassin realised that it was coming from the tongue less throat of Ilum Stray. _Is that his laugh? Andraste's burning arse that was horrible._

"The cat lady is just a story they tell baby Crows to make them wet the bed," Kalliste scoffed. "Should I take the tip off his tongue? For lying to us?"

"She's as real as you and I," Aldo's voice was a whisper now, and something in it made Zevran believe him. "Why do you think I left the Crows?"

"Please, enlighten us."

Aldo exhaled slowly and ran his calloused hands over his cropped hair. "How much do you know about The Lady of Cats?"

"Every Crow knows the story. The grief stricken mother, both sons assassinated, who rose from the grave and swore to destroy every last Crow. It's a myth."

"It's not, I have met her."

"Too much of that Dalish tobacco you used to like so much."

"No," there was something definitive in Aldo's voice_._ "Last year Crows started going missing, not just young recruits but hardened assassins, men who had been with the guild for decades. I was asked to head up an investigation, to find them. I'd heard a lot of rumours but thought nothing of them; you hear so many strange whisperings in my line of work that you just get used to brushing them off. Then the bodies started turning up." For the first time Aldo took a long draw on his wine, grimacing at the taste. "If you could call them bodies, more apt to say parts of bodies; eyes, teeth, pieces of unidentifiable flesh, all sent to the Crows in envelopes greased with blood. It turned into absolute chaos. With little to no evidence as to who the real killers were paranoia was rife. The cells became uncontrollable as Crow fought Crow, blood gushed in the drains of Antiva and none of it paid for. We were almost brought to our knees. Then she came.

"I don't know how she heard about the meeting, in retrospect she may have organised it herself, we were all too secretive with each other, but when the summons came every Crow master attended. I was there; I knew this was it, that we were going to get answers. They just weren't the answers that any of us expected. There was much arguing and shouting, accusations flew as easily as arrows, it was about to come to further bloodshed then, she was just there, sat among the masters, where there had been empty space before."

"You expect us to believe that she just materialised in the room?" Kallistes voice was oozing with anger.

"I have seen similar things," Zevran admitted. "Go on."

"When she spoke," Aldo shuddered at the memory, "it was like her voice was inside us all somehow. She told us that she planned to destroy us all. That if we laid down our arms and gave our oaths to her that we would be saved. This was badly received. Ezio Faust was the first to reach for his blades, he turned to stab the woman in the heart and she simply...vanished. Just a pile of red robes remained and then her voice again. I will remember what she said until the end of my days; 'You cannot kill that which has already died.' I left Antiva that night, how are you supposed to fight something that cannot die?"

"She must be a mage."

"You don't actually believe this story do you?" Kalliste was almost snarling now.

Zevran studied Rossetti carefully, the man stunk of weakness and fear, but he couldn't smell the trace of a lie. "I think that I do."

"Oh excellent, I am surrounded by fools," Kalliste whispered bitterly. "You better have an extremely good reason for this Zevran." Her icy eyes narrowed in his direction. _Beautiful, dangerous and quite the temper too._

"When you have seen the things I have, my dear, this," he gestured at Aldo."This is hardly unbelievable. Spend enough time around a mage and you will find stranger things than you've ever even imagined are not only real, but mostly trying to kill you." It seemed to settle the captain but only a little. She went back to her pacing. _If Elaria were here she would know so much more_. Unconsciously his hand went to his right ear.

"And why do you think this Lady of Cats would help us?"

"I still hear a few whisperings, even this far west, once one has spies they are rather difficult to get rid of, no?"

"And what do you hear?"

"That the war is still being waged in Antiva City, but it is more subtle than ever. She's recruiting Crows, Zevran. If there's any truth to the rumours she controls at least two cells worth of assassins, spread out across the guild, ready to strike at any moment. She also has her own private rouge army, The Cats of course. What with my contacts and your...skills, I'm sure she'd recruit us."

"And you think you can find her?"

"They don't call me the Master of Whispers for nothing," when Rossetti smiled years seemed to drop off his face.

"Then, I believe we have an agreement."


	7. Chapter 7

_Elaria Denerim _

* * *

_Elaria,_

_I wish you would move back to your rooms at the Palace, Isabella said that the winds to sail may not come for another week and with autumn in full swing that old Warden's keep won't keep you warm. It's practically a ruin! Anyway, I have arranged for you to have some dancing lessons, you'll need them in Antiva. Be at the royal armoury at midnight and do not be late._

_Alistair._

The messenger was halfway out the door before she called him back.

"I want to write a reply."

The elf boy could have been no more than seven, he went red in the face and began to splutter.

"S... sorry milady, the K... king said there w...was t...to be no d...d...d...discussion about this," he stammered and then flinched as though he expected to be struck. _Makers breath Alistair I taught you well._ The King had made certain to get his way by putting his words into this terrified child's mouth.

"Don't worry boy," she smiled soothingly. He managed a small one back himself and closed the door behind him. 

"What did Alistair want?" Anders was sprawled out on a rug by the fire, surrounded by old bits of parchment and ancient tomes. He had spent the day there after finding the cache of Grey Warden books that had miraculously escaped the darkspawn's destruction. What he was researching Elaria didn't ask, but she thought she knew. She had been excited by the books herself, but whenever she sat down to read the words danced around the page and her mind wondered to places that she did not want to explore.

"Apparently he wants me to attend a midnight dancing lesson in the palace armoury."

"A midnight dancing lesson sounds like one of Oghren's euphemisms. Perhaps the King's got something on his mind?" She thoroughly disliked the lurid laugh that came from his lips.

"Entirely inappropriate," her tone was chillier than she had expected.

"Sorry Elaria," he went back to his writing but she could tell something was still on his mind.

"There's never been anything between me and Alistair, Anders and there never will be."

"Really?" he put down his quill and looked at her. "I mean he's a very handsome man, he's kind, and he obviously adores you. I for one wouldn't blame you if you had."

She began to wonder whether Anders was talking about Alistair or himself. She gave him an appraising look. "I've never even thought about it before, he's a shem." A twisted grin stole her lips at the half-lie.

"Oh ho ho, what happened to racial equality hmm?"

"Sexual preference is not the same as racial equality," she grinned at him. "Alistair is a good man, compassionate, sweet and innocent. Very innocent."

"The King's a virgin!?" Anders exclaimed.

"Say it a bit louder; I think there were some people in Redcliffe who didn't quite hear you." She couldn't help but laugh at the shock on Anders' face. "I do believe he is saving himself for his one true love, who now, I suppose, will be a Queen. It's all very storybook romantic, no?"

"You sound like you disapprove."

"Not at all; it worked for Alistair, but it's not like everyone can have such a happy ending and people like us are rarely the ones who do."

"People like us?"

"Mages, Grey Wardens, anyone who fights. We live and die by the blade and that death could come at any moment, it is better to take your pleasures when you can."

"And do you?" his breath was husky now. "Take your pleasures when you can I mean?"

"Once...before...before everything."

He looked as though he was bursting to say something else but this time she did not enquire what it was, she had a feeling she did not want to know. She saw him struggle with it for a while but he decided to leave whatever it was unsaid and return to writing.

The small circular room at the base of the tumbled down tower had been the only one with a complete ceiling. When Nathenial and Oghren had seen the place they had both immediately taken up the King's offer of beds at the palace. Anders had pleaded with her to go with them but she had refused and he, loyal as ever, had stayed with her. They'd had to block off the stone spiral staircase that lead upwards into the tower to stop the spitting rain from getting in. In places the wooden floorboards above them were rotten and leaking, they'd placed buckets underneath the drips, and there seemed no immediate danger of the roof collapsing. Completely unfurnished as the ruin was, the Wardens had to find what little comforts they could, Elaria had found a rickety desk and armchair, that smelled of damp, in the cellar and moved them into the room, Anders had bought the rug from an Orlesian trader in the Market District. At night they rolled out their sleeping mats and slept by the large fireplace that took up almost a whole wall. It had turned out to be much cosier than she would have ever expected when she first arrived.

Elaria's mind burned with questions about her 'dancing lessons.' There was no way she wasn't going to go, Alistair had certainly peaked her interest with his mysterious note. By the time the clock towers struck eleven she was armed and armoured. The heavy plate had begun to take its toll on her weak frame and now she only wore it when it was necessary. Dark angry bruises and large red welts looked more brutal than they were on her white skin. As she tried to creep towards the door Anders woke up from where he'd unceremoniously passed out atop a pile of books.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he yawned as he stretched upwards.

"Just go back to sleep, Anders. I'll be fine."

She closed the ill fitting oak door and stepped into the back streets of Denerim.

It seemed forever since she'd walked these misty cobbled streets at night. Every alleyway yielded a memory, _that's where we were ambushed by bandits, over there where Talisien died, is that the place we killed Arl Howes men with the Crows?_ And every single one of these memories brought up the ghost of Zevran. _The last time I saw him it was autumn in Denerim_ and _that_ thought took her by surprise. _A year? Has it has it really been a year since that last night?_ She tried not to think about it, tried to psychically shake the thought from her head but once she was on an old road it was hard to escape. _Not even a letter, for a year. What if he's got someone else? Maker, what if he's dead? _And that thought was just a little too hard to bear and she could feel that rising feeling that came before panic and _I will not panic. Zevran is a hard man to kill, he's just busy is all. _Before she realised what was happening her feet had trodden her to the front doors of the Royal Palace. 

"Evening, Warden Commander," one of the guards greeted as she climbed the steps. She gave him a half smile.

"Evening Aiden," she nodded.

"I didn't think you'd remember me, milady."

"When you fought so bravely against Loghain's men on the Bannorn? Never." The man swelled with pride.

"The King made me a Lieutenant in the Palace Guard for that day, milady."

"We should go for a drink sometime to celebrate," she smiled easily.

"That would be grand, milady," he said as he pushed the heavy oaken door open for her.

The halls of the Royal Palace were a maze of twists and turns that were easy to get lost in, if you were unfamiliar with their entanglement. Elaria had put off coming here for as long as she could; knowing how evocative these walls would be. Every alcove held whispered conversations of desire and affection, every room a story of late night exploring and the thrill at the thought of being caught in the act. She felt a longing inside her that she thought had been buried for good.

The armoury was dark and deserted when she arrived and she had to fumble around to find torches, and flint and brackets, but soon it was lit with a warm glow. The place was full of old abandoned pieces of armour and weaponry stacked high on wooden shelves. Her hoarding instinct kicked in and she began to search the junk for buried treasure.

"Warden Commander Elaria Surana, I presume?" the Antivian accent put her on guard; she drew both her daggers and turned to face the man.

"Tut tut, no, no, that is all wrong," and he was across the room and adjusting her stance. "You need to have your left hand a little higher and your right arm further out. There that is much better." He stepped backwards admiring his handiwork and gave a broad grin.

"Who are you?" she whispered in confusion.

"I am Fabio of Rialto, ex trainer of Crows and now sworn sword to Queen Isabella of the Eastern sea's, at your service," he gave a sweeping bow. "I am here to train you in the dance of the daggers. The King, he hired me, yes?"

"The King hired you to teach me to fight?" the realisation dawned.

"Just so," he gave her that same broad smile. The brown fuzz of the man's head crept all the way past his delicate cheekbones and across his chin, eye's the colour of fallen leaves glimmered with warmth down at her. "Now first we must get you out of that terrible armour, no? It is clearly far too heavy for you." Before he could object he was unloosing the straps of her heavy plate and soon she stood in just her undershirt, part of her felt uncomfortable but the man's businesslike manner soon put her at ease. "The King has had you made an extraordinary piece of light armour, look here," he opened a chest to his right with a key. It was indeed extraordinary, the dragon skin had been worked finely and there were runes carved into the breastplate, the same distinctive patterns swirled over the whole set in a red the colour of blood. With Fabio helping her it took no time at all for her to be suited and booted and ready for practice.

"There are many skills that one must master if one wishes to dance with daggers and live. You must be subtle, quick and most importantly you must learn how to lie."

"To lie?"

"Yes, with your every move a clever opponent evaluates your next one; you must trick them with your quickness. Fool them with your cunning, make your whole body say left when you intend to stab right. Let me show you, come at me."

But before she could begin he had stopped her. "You are tiny and delicate yes? This is good for the art. You must move quickly to avoid attacks, put your feet like this." And he demonstrated. "So you are ready to leap into attack or defence at any moment."

And for what seemed like hours to the Warden that was how it went, her trying to hit him and failing, him occasionally stopping to offer advice, to teach her a move, to correct her stance or footwork. He beat her back to the wall many times but she always managed to gain a few feet before he would persuade her with his entire being that he was going for an upward stroke to the face and then his dagger would find a slot between her armour and he would pronounce her dead. Then the tango would begin again.

It was surreal fighting without the fade. She was used to psychical attacks barely damaging her, to zipping around the battlefield unseen as she moved completely within the fade, to manipulating the veil and paralysing her opponent's with a whispered word and a wave of her hand. _This type of fighting is exhausting but Maker do I feel alive._

And then all too soon Fabio of Rialto had sheathed his daggers and was patting her on the back. She followed suit and tried to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees.

"You fight well Warden, but you still have a long way to go. Same time, same place tomorrow until we sail for Antiva."

"Will you be coming with us?"

"Of course, wherever my Queen goes I follow. Maybe we can continue training aboard the ship, we shall see." He bowed as he took his leave of her. "Sleep well, Warden." And he was gone as silently as he came.

Adrenaline still coursed through Elaria as she exited the hall. The training and this place had brought up memories and feelings that she thought long abandoned. Greif over her lost power fought with pride over her progression in the new. Lust and passion coursed through her with all those nights she'd had here with Zevran haunting every room. How she was going to be so _near _to him in Antiva and then in one fell swoop a gut gnawing fear at the thought that even if she did find him she was a very different person now. _Maybe things will be different in Antiva_, she thought as she opened the door to their rooms. _To our rooms, makers breath I didn't even realise I was walking here._

When Alistair had become King of Ferelden he had insisted that she have a wing in the royal palace that was to be, as he said, 'her home.' The space had been a blank canvas that she'd never even dreamed of having, everything in the Circle Tower was devoid of personality and it wasn't considered appropriate for mages to show individuality. It had been tentative and practical at first; new curtains for all three rooms, made of fine Antivian silk, a large free standing iron tub, a desk, a bookshelf. Then Zevran and Leliana had come to see the rooms and Zevran had suggested some satin tapestries for the ceiling of their bedroom that reflected any light that poured in from the large balcony doors with a deep golden sheen. Leliana had bought the massive mahogany bed head that was elaborately carved with roses for what she'd called _an anniversary present,_ though the year since that day in Lothering had long since passed. And then the three of them had got lost in a whirl of velvets, silks, wine and comfort._ I was so young back then, I feel like I've aged twenty years. _She unarmed herself, slotting her daggers into the bedroom wall holdings that had once held _Starfang_ and _The Rose's Thorn_ when Zevran was asleep, _the only time he was ever unarmed_, she smiled at the thought. As she lay down among the velvet of the bed a plume of dust went up glittering in the moonlight. _Am I going crazy or does it still smell of him?_ Waves of exhaustion broke against her body but her mind was too alive to drift off. She was in that strange state between sleep and awake when she was roused by a soft knock on the outer door. _Nobody knows I'm here_, she opened Zevran's bed side table, grabbed the dagger she knew she would find there and padded across the soft carpet out into the reception room. She opened the door slowly.

Isabela, self proclaimed Queen of the Eastern Sea's, captain of _The Siren's Call_ and old friend to Zevran and Elaria both, grinned mischievously in the half light. Opening the door more fully the Warden Commander was surprised to find her embraced by the beautiful rouge. She stiffened under the unexpected contact which did not go unnoticed. Isabela held her at arm's length examining the shaking mage thoroughly. She gently took the dagger out of her friend's hand.

"Something has happened, sweet thing." It was not a question and Elaria felt herself shrink away under the intent amber gaze.

After the blight the two rouges had been her constant companions. Every day they'd spent sparring, shopping or eating. Every night a blur of drinking, telling stories, card games and other much more intimate activates. The massive bed had held their three exhausted bodies more times than Elaria could remember. To begin with Isabela had been a figure of awe for the cloistered mage, much in the same ways Zevran had; she was so well travelled, so strong and daring and an exceptional and experienced lover. Much like with Zevran they had settled down into an easy friendship that Elaria had never felt with other women, with the exception of Morrigan and to some extent Leliana.

The woman knew the room well and she soon had candles burning and a fire lit in the small brazier of the entrance way. She steered the still shocked mage to a sofa and sat down next to her, grasping her hand.

"Now you are going to tell me and you are not to leave out anything."

And she did. The memories were relentless; she could not believe how much she had hid from Alistair's innocence. Details that she would have rather forgotten came to her lips in splatters of rage and sadness; the way his coarse black hair had felt against her skin, how he had pinned her legs down and snarled when she tried to struggle, the final horrible sense of inevitability at what was happening followed by her shutting down, trying to desperately go away inside herself and then the soul crushing desire to just be dead. How sometimes she still wished she was dead now, how the shem had spat Zevrans name in her face when she'd begged him to know why he hadn't just killed her.

Isabela was an ocean of calm, clasping her hand and holding her sobbing friend to her chest when it was obvious that she could not carry on. It had been an age since Elaria had felt such comfort at another's touch, the rouge deftly unplaited her hair as she lay curled up on her lap and soon the familiarity of the space and company made her feel slightly more whole. Her friend had remained mostly silent during the tale expect to whisper comforting words at the most difficult parts.

"It is a hard thing, what these men do to us, isn't it? Sweet thing," she sighed and kissed Elaria's forehead. "For now you need to sleep my dear, come let us get you ready for bed."

She felt as weak as a child as Isabela gently guided her into the bedroom. Elaria stood in silence as the rouge flittered about the room; undoing the straps of her armour (with a tsk and the marks that the Warden's heavy plate had left), opening draws and finding a long cotton shift which she pulled down over the mages smallclothes, blowing out candles or bringing them in to light her way. It was only when she was in bed that Elaria managed to find her voice.

"Why did you come to see me? Are we sailing soon?" she yawned. Isabela smiled at her and sat down cross legged on the massive bed.

"No change in the winds yet, my dear. I came because I thought it best if we dyed your hair so we could remain conspicuous in Antiva, red hair is not common there and I'm sure your looks if not your deeds have reached the ears of those narcissistic whores. Of course I was also looking for some good company." A mischievous grin that Elaria knew so well lit up the rouges face. "But not tonight my dear, you need to rest."

"You can stay if you like, though I'm in no fit state for the fun you want to have." Elaria had said it as a joke but sadness came to her voice that she did not expect.

"Oh my sweet thing," the mischief fled her smile to replaced by compassion. "It will take a while my dear but one day, I promise, you will be a much stronger person for all this."

"You speak like you know from experience."

"Oh I do my dear, I do," a sadness in her smile then, and it was Elaria grasping her hand in the moonlight.

"Thank you Isabela. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Sweet thing, you would be perfectly fine without me. Now sleep. I will stay until you are dreaming."

The rouge curled her still clothed frame around Elaria. The warmth, familiarity and exhaustion of it all overwhelmed her and it was not long before she was breathing softly and fast asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_Zevran, Antiva City_

* * *

"_Braska,_ Vita how could you be so stupid!"

The young whore looked up at him with pleading green eyes, her sweep of raven hair falling down her back in trembling waves.

"But it's such a romantic story."

"It's a dangerous story, which is why I told you to keep it secret." It had been a long time since he'd felt this angry as he stormed around his small rented room at _The Nymph's Song. _The wooden floorboards creaked and strained under his heavy footfalls and the windows rattled in their frames.

"I'm sorry; I never thought it was dangerous. I just thought you didn't want people to know you'd fallen in love."

He glared at her as tears fell down her bronze cheeks. "I never mentioned that word."

"Oh but Zev it was so obvious," Vita stumbled to her feet from her knees almost ripping the light fabric of her emerald dress in her clumsiness. "You were so...different." She was smiling now, radiating innocence from every feature. _A good act for a whore I suppose._

When _The Antivian Whore_ had pulled into harbour at the Palmero docks, Kalliste, Zevran and Aldo had all gone their separate ways. Kalliste insisting she had some business to deal with and she would return to the City in a week. Zevran could tell she was still fuming at his trust of Aldo, but he knew the passion in the Whisperer's eyes, one of wanting to get back in the game. Once on solid ground the two men parted ways, after agreeing to rendezvous at _The Golden Claw_ in a week's time. The assassin had suddenly found himself alone in this grand home city of his. His feet had stalked the muggy familiar streets with a slight gladness in his heart. His itchy brown robe was an excellent disguise but extremely hot on the crowded streets. This port was located in a particularly run down part of the city, sweating merchants sold fish whose reek penetrated through the heat like a saw. They sold from glorified huts, rudimentary shelters of wood panels and canvas. More upper market vendors employed young urchins to keep the flies off the quickly rotting flesh. Insects were everywhere here, splattering against his mouth and eyes. He'd ducked into a back alley to get away from the crowds, taking his time but walking in a roundabout route to _The Song._ When he had stumbled onto the Plaza _di Papaveri_ any happiness he had felt at his arrival quickly vanished.

The large courtyard was located in one of the more unsavoury parts of Antiva, known as The Pits, though that of course was a matter of your definition of unsavoury. Here was a hot-bed of poverty. The poppies that the plaza was named for did very little to cover the smell of rotting fruit, cheap alcohol and even cheaper whores. Today the open space had been more full than usual and they seemed to be crowded around something. When Zevran had seen the banner fluttering high above them, coming from one of the decrepit wooden four story buildings that surrounded the area, what it proclaimed made him grit his teeth.

_The Warden Whore and The Antivian Crow; The true story of the fifth Blight._ _Plaza di Papaveri Noon._

Anger flashed through his brain but curiosity had got the better of him, he'd pushed his way through the mass of bodies until he could see the stage and hear the players.

_This is a monstrosity to art_ was something he'd thought often as he'd been part of the audience of street plays, which, in Antiva, consisted mostly of sex, fighting, sex, death and sometimes even a little more sex. This reworking of a tale he knew so well, a tale that he had, in fact witnessed and been part of, was little different to the rest. Women were not permitted to become actors in Antiva so Elaria herself was played by a man, a rather ugly burly ginger man at that. Zevran himself was a major role in the cheap production, played by an elven boy no older than six. The crowd laughed bawdily at the frequent romance scenes but Zevran could not help but feel affronted at his private life being lauded in such a grotesque and public manner. He could no longer watch when it came to the Archdemon, as the man who was portraying his warden pretended to pleasure the beast with his mouth.

He'd only told one person about his true relationship with Elaria and now she stood crying and shaking before him. _It was my own fault for trusting this stupid little girl with such a precious secret._

"I wish I'd never told you Vita," he sighed and ran his fingers through his unbraided hair. "I suppose you weren't stupid enough to mention my name?"

The woman looked pained and Zevran's somewhat abated anger rose again. "Who did you tell Vita? Tell me right fucking now."

"It was only one person, Zev and I swear he's told no-one," she was fully sobbing at Zevran's harsh tone and broke off into complete weeping. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm his tone.

"Please tell me Vita, I promise I'm not going to hurt you," he said through gritted teeth.

"Giovanni Saulino," and Zevran almost broke his oath. He contented himself with throwing the glass of wine he'd been holding into the wall behind them both. It was a moment before he'd even realised what he'd done.

"So let me get this straight. You told a Crow Master, who hates me, that I have something that is more precious to me than anything in the world?"

"He doesn't hate you. He always spoke fondly of you. That's why he came to me, he said that you and he used to be old friends and that you'd often spoke highly of my...skills." She gave a small smile and walked towards him. When she tried to put her hand on his chest he grabbed it. The woman winced at the pain.

"He has played you for a fool, Vita," he threw her hand down back to her side. The whore quickly resumed sobbing. _Maker, this girl changes her mask more frequently than an Orlesian noble woman._

"Please," she pleaded. "Don't hate me Zev, I'll do anything to make it up to you, anything."

_I suppose I should be grateful, at least I have a head start._ "There might be one thing you could do, but no. How can I trust you after this, my dear?" _I should have never trusted you in the first place, just because you know someone for a long time does not truly mean you know them._ Zevran had grown up in _The Nymph's Song_ before being sold to the Crows, Vita's mother had helped birth him into the world and clasped his mother's hand as she died doing it. At the time Carmen had no children of her own and had looked after the dead woman's son as well as her life style would allow. Now she had her own brood, of which Vita was the eldest, all of whom he considered to be somewhat family.

"Anything, please I'll do it." Her eye's shone with fresh tears but her young face was the picture of determination.

"You must find out if Giovanni is still in the city. If he is I want to know where he's staying." He patted her on the shoulder. Whores can make excellent spies, men are often too open with their tongues after being satisfied and they can extract many secrets just from asking the right questions, using the right persuasive techniques. "You will need to be subtle though, little one."

"I can be subtle," she grinned up at him. _So many emotions in one conversation, this girl is a storm._

"Thank you Vita. You better get back to work or Rosa will have both our hides." She hugged him tightly and threw a grin over her shoulder before she left.

"You should go to the baths Zev, you stink," she giggled as she closed the door.

* * *

The Plaza della Luna Rotte was the largest open space in the sprawling Antiva City. Right in the centre, it was the urbicolous beating heart of Antiva, with paths of various breadths and widths running like veins from its splendour. In the centre of the square was the largest Chantry in Eastern Thedas, its wooden fascia extended up the dizzying heights of the towers and was elaborately carved with images of different saints surrounded by copper flowers. Its domed roof sparkled like glittering gems in the sunlight, but in the cloudy moonless night the stained glass had no light to dance with. Zevran stalked quietly across the deserted plaza, wary of the high windows of the various Guilds of Antiva that surrounded him.

_There must be a reason he couldn't make the rendezvous, perhaps he was simply busy. Braska, I should have listened to Kailliste. I should have never trusted that bastard._ He had spent the night attempting to be inconspicuous in the rowdy bar. They had agreed on the pub for its many hidden alcoves and Zevran had settled down in one of the shaded seats that faced the door, nursing a chilled glass of wine. The clientele of the _Golden Cla_w consisted mostly of a large group of sailors and the whores they had brought off the streets with them. Zevran had listened to their rabble for several hours and drank two bottles of the wine until he eventually gave up on Aldo Rosetti.

_I had been so sure that he wasn't lying_ he scolded himself as he cut into a back alley, known as Tobacco Road for the merchants who sold their wares from smoke infested dens, and into The Pits. You could tell immediately that this part of the city housed the most poor and desperate creatures in Antiva. Whole families slept under the night sky, cradled together to ward off the cold. Bedraggled whores stalked the shit-strewn streets calling out their prices and for what pleasures. An army of cats patrolled the whole Pits and the air erupted occasionally with their territorial disputes or their yowling mating calls.

_The Nymph's Song_ was still very much open for business when Zevran finally arrived, every room at the front of the three story building had candlelight streaming out of them and the sounds of music and laughing came from the downstairs solar. Deciding he was not in the mood for company he took the disused back way. If you jumped over the wall, in the small gap between the whorehouse and their neighbours, you reached a piece of overgrown unclaimed scrubland where the backs of all the buildings faced. _It was less brambly when I used to do that as a child._ He had trouble traversing the thick bracken in his long cloak, thorns scrapped and snagged at the cheap material. When he finally reached the kitchen door he found it locked. Knocking loudly he put one ear to the door to listen for footsteps. When he heard the heaviness of the step he knew he would be dealing with the Madam and his landlady, Rosa del Tora. She swung the door open ferociously, a kitchen knife in her pudgy hands.

"Why are you using the back way Zevran? What have I told you about that? Hmm?!" The woman put the kitchen knife down.

"I am a little partial to using the back door, as I'm sure you're aware," he smiled cheekily at the woman.

"Oh, don't you be naughty with me young man," she said poking him in the chest with every syllable. She rose up to her full size, which did not even reach Zevran's shoulder. "I think you have been avoiding me too. I should give you a beating just for this. You owe me two month's rent Zevran and there is only so much I can forgive you. Especially after you didn't tell me about that girl of yours...what's her name...Elowyn? Alysha?"

"Elaria."

"Ah so it is true. I knew there was a reason our Zev was so moody. I did not even think to dream that it would be that you had fallen in love." She extended the last word into a mocking sound with little kissing gestures to go with it. He rolled his eyes.

"So Vita told you too, I suppose?"

"You must not blame the girl, she is young and foolish. I remember you being such, young man," she smiled fondly up at him, pinching his cheeks with an iron grip that left marks on his tattooed face. "Now if you are not going to pay me I suggest you get out of my kitchen and up to your room before I remember that I saw you." She winked her bright blue eyes and Zevran hurried to obey, taking the back servants stairs two at a time. The hallways between the rooms had thin walls and as Zevran emerged from the rickety third floor stairwell the sounds of various passions in the various rooms made him envious of the easy fun he could no longer enjoy. _You have ruined me for whores Elaria, I hope you're happy. _

When he finally reached the dark silence of his room he had expected some solitude but Vita sat on his bed in the darkness.

"I should really learn to lock this door," he smiled but as she turned her face to the moonlight he abruptly stopped. Tears glittered down her bruised and swollen face, even in the half light he could make out the shape of a mailed fist. He gathered her into his arms and she wet his rough cloak with tears.

"Who did this to you Vita? Hmm?" He stroked the wetness on her beaten face gently away.

"A client of course," she mumbled.

"Give me a name Vita and I shall cut off the hand that struck you."

"Giovanni came back, Zev. It was him. He..he said I was asking too many questions."

"Where is he? I shall kill him for this."

"He's gone again Zev. Or at least that's what he said after he hit me. He seemed pretty terrified, something had him really shaken. He kept raving about broken wings and clawed out eyes and something about some lady. I can't remember I'm so sorry Zev. I failed you."

"Oh no, sweet thing, it was I who failed you by asking you to do this thing. Did you tell Rosa of this?" She shook her head. "Well you should, tell the guards so they don't let him in again and if he does rear his ugly head they're to come straight to me." He wiped her tears away and kissed her on the forehead.

"One more thing, sweet thing?" she turned to look at him, her swollen face curved towards the darkness. "Did he say where he'd been?"

She frowned as she thought and then a most mournful look. "I think he said he'd been to Ferelden."

Zevran's heart burst as she shut the door behind her, leaving him in total darkness. _If he's hurt Elaria not even the dark city could wall my wrath. _Too much had happened now for Zevran to sleep, he lit some candles, drew his curtains, undressed, and lay on his straw mattress in his smallclothes as conflicting emotions warred in his mind for dominance. As he lay there he had no idea how many hours passed. The thunderstorm that had been building up for weeks finally descended and the unexpected booms and sounds of heavy rainfall broke him from his reverie. Soon the same consistent sound of falling raindrops soon eased him back into his meditations.

Worry for Elaria's safety was a consistent paralysing fear that he had never felt for anything before. It had beaten the other emotions back when he heard a scratching and banging on his door. He stretched as he got up, grabbing Rose's Thorn with one hand as he unlocked the door with the other.

A grey soggy thing streamed in past his legs and straight onto his bed before he could figure out what it was. Realising there was no immediate danger he put the knife down and locked the door behind him. As he advanced towards the thing it began to purr and a pair of intelligent amber eyes looked up at him.

Rats had long been a problem in The Pits, to the extent where it became necessary to own a good mouser if you wanted to own anything at all. The rats ate through everything they could find and the poor folk here did not have much to share. Eventually the rats had died out once the cats had bred quicker than anyone had thought possible. Now the territorial mammals had almost taken over the streets of the Pits, their screeching and yowling keeping the inhabitants awake at night. _What next a battalion of dogs to chase off the cats?_

This particular mouser was a well toned, beautiful specimen who looked much like a miniature panther. A much loved pet of the dozen or so whores he was relentlessly coddled and cooed over, which the fierce cat seemed to resent somewhat. Zevran stroked his soaking wet fur as he clambered next to the Tom, making sure not to crush his companion. The cat purred louder and pushed himself into the heat of the elves' chest. Somebody had tied a piece of red ribbon round the cat's neck as a collar. Zevran tsked as he began to remove it.

"Such a ferocious warrior as yourself has no need for such adornments," he imagined the cat appreciated his sentiment. As he untied the last knot a tiny piece of parchment that had been tucked inside the collar fluttered onto the bed.

"Oh, what do we have here, a secret message?" The cat licked himself in response. When Zevran read the letter his blood ran cold. It was short and sweet but certainly to the point.

_In two days, warehouse 135, night, hour of ten, or we kill Aldo Rossetti – The Lady of Cats._


	9. Chapter 9

_Elaria, somewhere off the cost of Hercina_

Stopping to take on water in the Free Marches port had been the only abatement that Elaria was afforded from her seasickness. It was too soon before they were back on open water, and though the coast was visible and Isabela assured her that she had known these seas to be much rougher, it did nothing to stop the queasiness that frequently overcame Elaria. It was not just the constantly moving floor beneath her but the very real fear of drowning on this unforgiving coast that found her emptying her stomach over board. At first Anders had laughed at his friend's illness and comforted her with healing spells every so often. Now the healer was in a worse state than she, constricted to the lower bunk in the cabin they shared. She had tried as best she could to help the stricken mage but more often than not going in that hot, sticky room that stank of vomit would bring the retching back upon herself.

_The Siren's Call _was a large but sleek carrack; its three masts boasted six sails of various sizes for which there was a huge amount of rigging. On each of them, stitched in fine silk onto the canvas, was the symbol of Isabela's fleet, a human skull with its mouth forced open by a huge rose. Red, black and white ribbons of the same fine incandescent material as the emblem flapped and shone in the wind. Below deck there were three floors that accommodated all the necessities of life at sea; a huge communal area where the sailors slept and socialised, a kitchen, store rooms full of grains, salted pork, Ferelden ales and ciders and even a small surgery, tended to by a man Anders had shuddered at the thought of being nursed by. Elaria's cabin was one of three located on the main deck, it was much less opulent than Isabela's and her first mates, Fabio of Rialto's, but it was comfortable enough.

Fabio was shouting orders to sailors who scurried to fulfil them in the pre-dawn light when Elaria made her morning journey to retch overboard. With one hand gripping the wooden rail she heaved off the starboard side of the ship, her body burned and ached with the all too familiar feeling of her empty stomach trying to haul content that wasn't in her, out of her. After several minutes the queasiness abided but she was too weak to move, she slid to the floor resting her back against the curved wooden edge of the ship. It had been like this almost every day for the last fortnight they'd spent at sea. Elaria had eaten very little and what she could she usually ended up giving to the sea before she'd fully digested it. Sometimes even water would not stay down, and that was the queerest feeling of all, to be craving it's cold clean refreshment and then to have it come back up when it hadn't even had a chance to warm in her stomach. By the time she felt strong enough to move the sun had vaulted over the horizon and was glaring down on the ship, though with little warmth, as it was like to do in the first days of Parvulis, the second month of autumn. She wobbled her way across the deck taking care not to bump into any sailors running about their business. Everyone of the swarthy crew was overwhelming loyal and full of admiration for their female Captain. Below decks, when Isabela was not present, they told her stories of their Captain's many amazing deeds and adventures. One of her men was a bard named Aneirin who had convinced the Warden to play his lute as he sang songs celebrating his Queen's beauty, her skill in battle and her ability to steer ships through the most terrible of weather.

As she climbed the ladder that separated the bow from the main deck she saw Isabela staring out to sea. She wore an expression of contempt as she glared at the horizon, her arms folded in disdain.

"There's a storm coming."

Elaria squinted at the distance that held the Captains attention. "Are you sure, looks like blue skies to me."

"I can feel it in my bones." Elaria nodded, all she could feel in her bones was exhaustion but she trusted the seasoned captain. Isabela glanced at her friend and then turned round to face her.

"You look like shit Elaria. Have you broken your fast?"

"What's the point, it doesn't stay down anyway."

"Dmitiri," the captain called to a hazel eyed boy on the main deck below. "Bring some food and water up here for me and the Warden and be quick about it." She pulled a wooden chair over for Elaria to sit on, but the mage preferred to sit on the comfort of the roiling floor.

"I'd like to say it can only get better, but if I'm right about the storm it'd be a lie." Elaria groaned at the thought_._

"It can't get much worse than this."

Isabela gave her a sad smile as she crouched down next to her.

"You'll see, sweet thing. You'll see."

* * *

And she did see, and feel and smell. Isabela had been more right about the storm than Elaria would have liked to guess. The day it began she had managed to persuade the stricken Anders up on deck. The temperature had dropped suddenly that evening and they bundled next to each other on the raised bow of the ship. Rain came first soaking the two mages to the skin. To begin with it had been refreshing and they'd allowed themselves to soak in its coolness. Soon however there was a peel of thunder and the floor began to lurch violently underneath them. The deck had become slippery with rain and seawater and it was difficult for the two mages to find their footing back to their cabin. All around them sailors were responding to Isabelas shouted orders, which seemed to get swallowed in the wind. Finally they made it to the door and hurriedly clustered inside the dark space. Anders went immediately to his bunk as Elaria searched desperately for some dry matches for the glass covered lantern. She had finally managed to light a match when the deck suddenly fell away from under her and she lost her footing, the match fell to the floor next to her, sizzling as it was put out. As she began to get to her feet the sea roiled again and Elaria was thrown onto the bed atop the vomiting mage.

They clung to each in the darkness, taking turns to hurl over the side of the small bunk. They tried to sleep but it would not come, they tried to talk but the effort made them sick, nothing could take her mind off the churning in her stomach and the crippling fear of death without being able to fight it. It felt like they passed days like that, without seeing the sun there was no way of telling how long it had been. The storm raged unceasingly outside. They could hear terrifying noises as they curled next to each other in the dark; shouts and screams of desperate sailors, the sails being raised and lowered, the wind howling, the sea battering against the wood of the ship and once a terrible crack of lightening followed by a harrowingly loud creaking and almighty splash. Elaria had never been particularly religious but being raised by the Chantry did not come without its consequences. _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created no-one can tear asunder._ The Canticle of Trials echoed around her head in the darkness and she was surprised by the peace it offered. Swallowing the bile that rose, she disentangled herself from Anders tight embrace and tried to find her feet in the dark.

"Don't..." he tried to say more but his voice was hoarse and dry.

"I have to see what that was," she could barely hear herself over the wind outside and it hurt to talk, it hurt to think. When she finally managed to rise she had to grab hold of the bed to stop herself from falling. Her vision swam as flecks of light danced before her eyes. Then the ship gave another shudder and threw her off her feet. As she fell she cracked her head on the bedstead. The pain was blinding and when she tried to move she found she could not. Then darkness. 

* * *

_It was her first night at the Circle and she was in a strange bed cradling Ciara as the younger terrified girl, that she'd only met an hour ago, wept in her arms ...she stood coursing with the power of her first successful ice spell, finding the truth of why mages are so respected and revered...she knelt in the Circle Chapel for hours, her ten year old knees aching, in penance for turning a girls hair to ice after she was particularly cruel to Jowan...she awoke from her Joining, Alistair and Duncan's face's swam before her vision with identical looks of concern...She was holding Alistair as he sobbed in the privacy of his tent after Ostagar...she sobbed herself under the soft warm fur of Tajic...the visions seemed to pick up pace...she was feeling the old power of the Arcane Warrior take over her...she was training with Alistair... with Sten...with Leliana... she stood over Zevran holding a sword in her hand...she laughed with Leliana as the she tried to play the fat bottomed lute she'd brought the rouge...she was feeding Zevran cherries that she'd frozen with magic under the shade of a dusty oak...she was back at the Circle... back in the Deep roads...back at Redcliffe... there were so many fights...endless blood and taint and death...the Landsmeet swam before her now as she declared Alistair King..._

"Her eyes are fluttering; she's coming back to us."

_She was driving a sword through the head of the archdemon after making an awful pact with Morrigan...Maker how I had forgotten this?_

"Here, make her drink this and keep it down. It should bring her around."

The burning in her throat made her cough and splutter. Her eyes opened involuntarily and she sat up. Sunlight blinded her and there was an intense throbbing in the back of her neck. Her injuries made her lie back down on the makeshift bed.

"Step back and give her some room," said Anders, whose healing warmth extended down to her, mellowing her pain.

"Where am I?" She ventured to open one eye but it was still too bright.

"You are on the deck of _The Siren's Call,_ sweet thing," she felt Isabela's voice surprisingly close. "Or at least what's left of it." She found the strength to shield her eyes from the glaring sun and looked around. There was splintered wood everywhere as one of the smaller masts had broken in the storm. One of the sails was missing but all the others were up and pulling the ship along. Isabela's cabin door had blown off in the wind. The crew gathered around her looked tired but thankful to be alive. Anders and Isabela sat either side of her with the ships surgeon a few feet off.

"How long...?"

"The storm raged for two whole days," Isabela began. "You were lucky it was not a third you would have both died of dehydration. We managed to resuscitate Anders after a day but your head wound needed time to heal. In total you've probably lost a week."

"A week?"

The Captain nodded, "That's not the worst of it either; we've been blown off course by that blasted storm. We're going to have to dock at Llomerryn to make some essential repairs."

"Isn't Llomerryn full of pirates and blood mages?"Anders knit is eyebrows, Isabela smirked down at him.

"You think I'm Queen of the Eastern Seas because I give lifts to my friends, Anders?"

"You're a pirate?!" Anders' eyes widened in surprise. Elaria even found strength to join in the laughter.

"Did you think I was a humble merchant, Anders? Come now." She gave him a wicked grin as she got up, offering him her hand. "I promise I won't board your ship, not unless you ask nicely."

* * *

Elaria had balked at the thought of spending another week aboard a half broken ship only to land in a place that was not her intended destination. However much to her surprise the sea seemed calm after its ferocity and she eventually managed to find her sea legs. She walked on the deck most days and had even had a lesson in climbing the rigging from some of the sailors. At nights she drank and talked with Anders and Isabela, sometimes they would play Wicked Grace but the mages soon got tired of losing to the rogue. When she was as comfortable on sea as she was on land Fabio came to her, asking if she would like to resume her training.

They sparred on the deck when they anchored up for the evening, it became a ritual that other sailors wanted to join in; she even tested her blades against Isabela. With every defeat and every victory she felt herself getting stronger, more suited to this mode of fighting. She'd not had much bulk to begin with but after her sickness she shed the weight that was there and with this rigorous exercise she was becoming more toned and flexible than she had ever been before. The leather armour Alistair had made for her began to chafe when she moved so she had taken to wearing a cotton shirt and some high waist trousers borrowed from the slight elven bard Aneirin.

She was attempting to beat back Fabio's unrelenting blows one sunset when a call came from the main mast.

"Land ahoy, north east. Must be Llomerryn."

She'd let her attention drop at the shout and was shocked to find Fabio's blade at her throat. He grinned as he looked down on her laughing. "Dead again, Warden."

"Hardly fair."

"If you are distracted in combat then you die. But you know this already, yes?"

She smiled, conceding to his truth. They were about to come at each other again when Isabela's voice called down from the bow.

"Elaria, a minute if you will."

Sheathing her weapons she nodded and beamed at the first mate, "I'll be back for you later."

"Oh? I do not doubt you."

The sun had completely sunk below the horizon but still cast the clouds above it with extravagant hues. She stood next to Isabela in silence as they watched the spectacular shifts of colour shimmer off the ocean. In the distance the Rivani island of Llomerryn was visible, a dark silhouette against the multitude of colour. The wind swept through Elaria's unbraided tangles, sweeping the mass of half dreadlocked blackness all around her. True to her word Isabela had insisted on dying the distinctive flame red hair of her elven companion the more common colour of darkness. She turned to Elaria, a stern look on her face.

"Who are you?"

Elaria smiled, they had been playing this game for the last week or so and she had still yet to find an identity that Isabela approved of. "I am Elowyn Tabris."

"Where do you come from?"

"I was brought up in the Alienage in Denerim where The Queen of the Eastern Sea's saved me from Tevinter Slavers and I, in turn, pledged my sword to her name."

"Too flowery, too romantic; you are an uneducated sell-sword, not a Chantry educated mage," she scowled at her friend. "Again, where do you come from?"

"I'm from the Alienage in Denerim. Isabela hired me as..." she thought for a moment trying to find a reason that Isabela would pay for Elaria. "As her bed slave."

Isabela's stern expression vanished to be replaced with a wicked smile. "Make it a whore from the Pearl; I don't take slaves, but other than that you've got yourself a cover story, at least for Llomerryn. Though sleeping with me may be required to make this terrible _lie _seem more convincing." The captain shifted closer to her, pushing a strand of raven hair back from the mages tired pale face. Elaria bit her lip and her gaze shifted to her feet. Isabela's calloused fingers moved under the soft skin of her chin, lifting her eyes up to meet the captains own. "I would never ask you to do anything you don't want to Elaria." Warmth radiated from Isabela's words and eyes and Elaria felt her rising panic fall as she bent her head against the strength of her friends shoulder.

"Thank you Isabela," she whispered.

The mage felt the smile against her forehead. "Just don't tell anyone. I have a fierce reputation to maintain."


	10. Chapter 10

_Zevran - Antiva City_

* * *

The storm may have blown over but the rain had not abided as Zevran paced the muddy paths along the docks of the city. The various vendors had long packed up and gone home, the downpour and darkness had driven off any customers. Zevran was more paranoid than usual in this weather, his low hood exaggerated the pounding sound of rain and wind, his sight was obscured by the mist and dark, he kept looking over his shoulder, the sounds around him warping into imaginary footsteps. Every time the street was deserted.

Two nights he had walked these same paths, in the same dreary weather, for the same reason and the same result. There had been no sign of _The Antivian Whore_ or her crew and Zevran knew that this night would be the same, except that tonight was _the_ night.

He had stayed in an empty room in the inn opposite _The Song_ after receiving the note_, _watching and waiting for anything untoward; looking for possible spies of this, so-called, Lady of Cats, but seeing no-one suspicious approach the whorehouse. The waiting for this night had been excruciating and Zevran couldn't help his thoughts drifting to Elaria. Storms always made him think of the mage, and this one had been no different. The scent of gathering lightning was one that he'd smelt on her skin so many times that it was difficult to break the association. Now his thoughts of her were tinged with fear. _If Giovanni had killed her then word would have spread by now,_ this single thought calmed him. _She's not some delicate flower, if I could not kill her then I doubt he could. She's surrounded by guards and other Wardens at Vigil's Keep, no harm could come to her._ Thinking of the Crow Master made bile of hatred rise in his stomach. The man was known amongst his cell for his particularly vicious training techniques, he was a complete sadist and, though Zevran did not completely disapprove of a certain level of consensual fiendishness, he certainly drew the line at mutilating young recruit's genitalia. When Rinna told Zevran of the types of cruelties he had inflicted upon her it had prompted the assassin to confront her cell Master. It had turned badly quickly, ugly words were said, daggers drawn and only Zevran's own cell Master had stopped the elf from killing Giovanni. _He obviously still remembers that slight._ The man was more dangerous for his adaptability than his cruelty; he had many masks that he used for different roles meaning he had a lot of friends unwilling to believe what they saw as malign rumour mongering. _I lost a lot of contacts for that duel, but it felt good to scar that smarmy face._

It had seemed an age before his two days were up but the night finally came. He'd paid Vitas hourly rate so she could watch when he needed to stalk the docks. She knew something was going on but Zevran told her only as much as she needed to know and no more.

The dirt roads of the poor parts of Antiva City, such as the docks, became almost impossible to navigate in the rain. Mud clung to everything, dragging down cloaks and boots, even Zevran's light step could not escape its grasping clutches. Winds were pounding relentlessly off the Rialto bay as he turned into the warehouse district near Palmero port. Here mountains of goods were waiting for transport to different destinations; rows upon rows of huge wooden buildings held everything from Antivian wine and salt to fine leather and fish.

He began searching carefully for numbers on the buildings, being very much aware that this place was heavily guarded. As Zevran turned the corner he heard the distinctive sound of rainfall pinging off heavy plate. He hid in the shadows of the awning just in time as at the end of the row a guard weighed down by steel, squelched through the dirt. _There's no way he can see his peripherals in that helmet and there's a gap between it and his breastplate, not a big one but enough for a dagger to slip into._ He counted the steps until his opponent's death. When he came within striking distance Zevran pounced. The Rose's Thorn was unsheathed and drenching in the other man's jugular blood in one precise, silent sweep of the assassin's skilled wrist. The ground drank the life from him as quickly as it did the rain. Searching the corpse thoroughly but finding only a few coins, he left them and moved on.

As the numbers on the warehouses crept up so did the amount of guards and not just men in heavy plate. Zevran hid from three Crows who thought they could not be seen on the rooftop of a warehouse. _Perhaps not seen but certainly heard._ His senses were sharpening with the adrenaline from the kill and he could hear their whispered talking on the wind. They were not the last Crows he was to encounter.

Two archers were on the ground, they were covering a large area between warehouses eighty and ninety. They both had a good line sight, one looking left and the other right but their traps were not only poorly made but poorly placed. Zevran enshrouded himself in shadow and picked his way easily between the small spring traps to the junction where the two elven Crows stood. Their deaths were clean, quick and silent. The dagger shimmered under the moonlight with jugular blood at the same time as the pommel of Starfang knocked his other opponent unconscious. He was still out cold when Zevran put him into a more permanent sleep. As he wiped the gore off his blades with his cloak he heard a footsteps coming towards him._ Guardsmen by their steps, no less than two but no more than five._ With no way of moving the bodies in time he slunk back into his shroud of night and waited silently for the men to come.

The four guards were clad in the same heavy steel as the first one had been, with the same ridiculous helms that blinkered them. When they eventually saw the dead Crows they quickened their steps. Zevran had to stifle a laugh as one of them blundered into a trap which crushed the badly made greaves and bit into his shin. The armour must've protected him somewhat however as he limped forwards, all of them being slightly more careful than before. When they reached the scene of the crime Zevran was close enough to hear them speak, but they were too unawares and he too well hidden for them to notice him.

"Blasted Crows," the injured man spat as they stood in a circle around the corpses.

"Why are they here anyway? What's so important that they sent a whole cell to the warehouse district?"

"You don't ask questions of the Crows and you don't end up dead," the wisest of the four said.

"The Captain said they were looking for something."

"Well somebody obviously doesn't want them to find it," the wise one gestured towards the corpses.

"Who would kill Crows though?"

"You ask far too many questions, Lupo. Good guards don't ask questions. Now let's spread out, see if we can find the son of a bitch who did this."

They dispersed quickly, taking the four different routes possible from the junction where Zevran was hidden. Checking the numbers on the doors around him he followed in the steps of the guard who asked too many questions. The slick mud was even thicker in the warehouse district which made it difficult to sneak, but the heavy rainfall silenced any sound that Zevran's light step would make. The guard unexpectedly took a right turn at the next junction, saving his life, as the assassin moved straight across. He quickened his pace now as the numbers went into the hundreds.

The buildings gained storeys as he got closer to his destination and perched on the flat roofs he could hear the fluttering of more Crows. He evaded them easily, moving quietly under the awnings out of their lines of sight. The density of Guardsmen also thickened, but he had no more trouble with the oblivious warriors than he did the rouges.

The door of the four storey building numbered '135' had been broken into. The heavy padlocks had been picked and lay splattered with mud on the floor. Zevran cautiously drafted through the cracked open door like a breeze. The darkness of the windowless building was complete but the assassin's sixth sense told him that the room was long but with a low ceiling. He delicately ran his fingers over the rough wooden walls to find his way, being careful not to splinter his hand. His feet touched the ground lightly before he put his weight on it, wary of rotten floorboards. He could hear the muffled sounds of voices and footsteps pacing, on the floor above him. This place felt somehow familiar. Though the smell of slowly rotting pine evoked a feeling it brought no tangible memories with it._ If I go to the end of this passage, I will find the stairway up_. Trusting in his instinct he ignored several doors that his fingers found and crept towards the end of the hallway. When he reached the stairwell torchlight streamed down, illuminating the banisters. Taking the time to adjust his eyes to the fire he began to hear the whisperings more distinctly though he could make out none of the words. _They must be in a room on the next level,_ he thought slinking towards the stairs.

Halfway up, one of the steps gave a loud creak. His hands went to the pommels of his weapons as he waited for the sounds of movement from the room. He could feel his pulse quicken as he stood in silence. He licked his lips in anticipation but the attack did not come, the men seemed to be too engrossed in conversation to hear small sounds from outside the door. He pressed upwards; all his senses alert for any indications that he had been noticed. The landing above him was well lit, with torches glaring in their brackets. There were several doorways along both sides, the first floor being as extensive as the ground one. The voices were coming from the first room to his left. He crouched next to it, putting his ear to the wood to hear more clearly what they were saying.

"I don't think I can pick this one, sir."

"What do you mean you can't pick it?" the second man's voice was as oddly familiar as this place was, but once again it seemed such a long time since he'd heard it that he could not immediately recognise to whom it belonged.

"Well truthfully it's not the lock that's the problem, sir. The doorway seems to be sealed with magic."

"Magic?!" the anger behind the tone immediately conjured a face to go with it. _Gustavo Menza, that old Crow's still alive._ Menza had been Zevran's formidable Master throughout his time with the Crows._ The man must be pushing sixty, a rarity in our line of work._

"Both of you go find me a mage," Menza ordered. Zevran was about to step away from the door when the third man spoke.

"I should stay with you..."

"Are you disobeying an order?"

"No sir, it's just these reports, two Crows and a guardsman have been killed..."

"Do they bear the marks of the Cat?"

"No sir but..."

"Then get out and do as your told or you'll follow them to the grave," shouted Menza. When Zevran heard the shuffle of feet he hid next to the frame, so the door opened outwards, hiding him. When he heard the complaints of the two men die down he entered the room silently.

Menza stood with his back to him but he turned as Zevran clicked the door shut behind him.

"Who are you?" the old man said. He had not remained alive so long by being arrogant; he drew his sword.

"I suppose there is no harm in you knowing," _after all you'll be dead soon._ Before he could pull down his hood however Gustavo spoke.

"I'd know that voice anywhere," the old Crow did not stop the surprise in his tone. "But I can't say I expected to see you here, Zevran." He did not sheath his sword, even though the elf did not draw his. "I suppose you're working for _her_ are you?" There was a sharp note of fear in his voice, though Zevran could not tell whether it was a ploy to make him over confidant. _The man thinks he knows me well after all. Perhaps he did, once._

"That would depend on who 'her'is."

"The Lady of Cats."

"Is she why you're here?"

"Are you working for her or not?"

Zevran sighed. "I work for legends not myths."

"She is not a myth, my friend." The assurance seemed to settle the old man but the elf was still surprised to see him sheathe his longsword. "I have seen her, felt her voice inside my head. She's been capturing Crows turning them into Cats or killing them, sending us pieces of their disfigured remains, eyes and feet, sometimes their scratched to pieces sometimes they're even," he pulled a disgusted face, "_chewed_. When Aldo came asking questions about her I thought we stood a chance, I thought he would help us win this war but when he went missing, I was sure all hope was lost."

"Aldo returned to The Crows?"

"You misunderstand; it's gotten bad enough that we needed the outside help. I never thought I'd live to see the day when we didn't kill a turncloak, but she's that dangerous. Though if she's got to Aldo..." his voice trailed off. _Perhaps the old Crow is truly scared_.

"That does not answer the question. Why are you here?"

"When we realised Aldo was gone we searched his room at _The Bawdy Lass_, he was meticulous in his documentation. We traced his last known whereabouts to this district but the lead had gone cold until we found this door." He motioned the entrance way behind him. It was heavier than any of the others and carved with intricate runes. It was very different from the rest of the building's architecture but it tugged at the familiar within Zevran. Then, in an almost blinding instant, it hit him. _This was where the first job Rinna and I had together ended. I remember it so clearly now._

They'd been on a long job before they reached the magic door. Their two cells had been grouped together for the indomitable task of wiping out the Guild of Sailors, in a takeover bid funded by the Llyomerryn based _Felicisima Armada._ The two elves were the best of their respective groups and were asked to take out the head of the Guild together. They'd fought well as a team, killed his bodyguards, sent out to protect him in this district, as though they were two people with one mind. Every man who faced the duo was struck down in a whirl of blades, as they fought back to back like they'd been doing so their whole lives. They'd sliced through the warehouse district cleanly and efficiently; only to be stumped by this door. The adrenaline had coursed through them and without the release that further death would bring; they sought other ways to quell their passion. Rinna's mouth had tasted of sweat and blood but it had only inflamed his need for her. His still bloody hands had pressed her up against the heavy door and much to their surprise, it had opened.

"Well it seems that I've turned up at the right time. I know how to open this door."

"But will you?"

"Maybe, after you answer a few questions."

"Very well," the old crow conceded. "What would you ask of me?"

"I want to know who funded the contract on Rinna and I."

Menza winced, "It wasn't a contract; more an executive decision." Zevran pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, signalling for the man to continue. "Giovanni called a meeting after you attacked him; he'd managed to persuade the majority of the Masters that you deserved to die for your insubordination. Ignacio and I tried to veto the decision but what could the two of us do against fifteen other Masters, when the vote was cast it went heavily out of your favour. The best I could do was volunteer Taliesin for the job, hoping that he would spare your life."

"But not Rinna's."

"They had to have some blood after what you did. Rinna was expendable. Once we were told the nature of...your relationship with her and how she died, the Masters considered it to be punishment enough."

"Rinna was expendable was she?" Menza winced at the anger in his voice.

"And that is why my friend, the passion she evokes in you, still, after so long. It is a powerful thing, something which the Crow training was designed to break. Men make themselves weaker when they love; it opens them up to all sorts of betrayal, even the greatest of us. We kill or are killed by what we love; you may have had to learn this the hard way, but sometimes that is the only way. You know this."

"Yes I do," he seethed as he slowly drew both his swords, giving his old Master the chance to do the same.

"It does not have to be this way, Zevran," his voice was a resigned whisper.

"Oh it does I'm afraid, my friend," and he leapt.

Steel rang against star metal as the old man blocked the longsword but The Roses Thorn was too quick and found the straps between his leather armour, slicing deep into his sword arm. He gasped at the pain as Zevran slunk backwards. He feigned a low cut to the back of his opponent's knee twisting up to strike at the exposed inner thigh, but his ruse was seen through and the attempt was blocked. He focused his attacks on Menza's weakened arm, and though his blades didn't find flesh he gained a lot of ground, pushing him back against the wall. The Crow quickly shifted from defence to attack, attempting to gain back the ground, he fought with all the quickness and viciousness that Zevran remembered, as he danced out of the way of the blows. One of them he was not quick enough to escape but the old man grunted with the effort of the strike to Zevran's side. Though the blow hurt his breastplate took most of the damage. Pain had always been a motivator for Zevran and he seized the moment that the Crow expected him to be reeling to launch an aggressive attack. Starfang found the wound that his dagger had created; his opponent almost dropped his sword in pain. As Menza staggered backwards Zevran pressed him further; blades moving in a blur, probing to find further weak spots in the old man's defence. He whirled one last ferocious double bladed strike at his opponents arm and at the same time curled his right foot around the back of Gustavo's knee, kicking his feet out from under him. The old Crow had put all his effort into blocking the blades and did not see the trip coming. He fell backwards against the wall with a resounding thud. Zevran kicked the longsword from his desperate grasp, breaking Menzas fingers in the process.

"Love is stronger than you think," words Elaria had whispered to him came unbound from his lips as he slit his former Masters throat from ear to ear. Blood sprayed from the corpse, quickly pooling and draining towards the sealed door, the strange wood seemed to drink the gore, varnishing it to a dark red colour. As the runes were touched by the stain they glowed with a bright white light and Zevran could hear a mechanism working behind it. It creaked as it opened.

Zevran was careful not to slip on the blood as he pushed the door open slightly further. The device on the back of the heavy door seemed to lighten to the load; otherwise it would have been too heavy for one man alone. As the opening widened he slid through the gap leaving the door ajar.

The room beyond was larger than Zevran remembered it being. There was no torches at all save for the one illuminating Aldo Rossetti in the middle of the room. He was barely recognisable, blood and bruising marred his face, he was bound to a chair and gagged, he seemed to be barely conscious but he stirred as Zevran moved towards him.

"Are you alright, old friend?" He removed the gag from between his mouth, noticing that some of his teeth were missing in the process.

"It's a trap," the man's look of fear was palpable and Zevran turned in time to see the door slam behind him, seemingly of its own accord. His weapons were in his hands in a flash as he searched for his opponent, he couldn't see anything moving in the shadows, his night eyes had been destroyed by the bright fire of the torch lighting up Aldo. _Braska, I was too hasty._ He heard the whir of the blade before it could bite into his shoulder and ducked underneath it spinning to face his opponent. As soon as he moved however he felt a crippling pain in his knee as an arrow pierced between the slats of his armour through flesh and tendons, pinning him to the ground. The pain was intense but he turned around to see the four archers behind him, all wearing the same black leather armour.

_Do not harm him,_ the voice resounded in his head using an intonation and annunciation that was bone chilling familiar but there was a haunting undertone he had never heard in that voice before. _It can't be her,_ he thought, _there is no way._ All of the approaching fighters were elves, four archers came from behind him, three heavily armoured warriors and half a dozen rouges from the front and sides forming a circle of bodies around the two injured men. They all sheathed their respective weapons at the strange voice's command and two of the lightly armoured elves stood aside to let a figure clad in blood red robes into their midst's. Zevran could feel eyes staring at him from the blackness made by the heavy cotton hood. As she moved towards him the pungent stench of rotten flesh that seemed to come off her almost made him gag.

_You have done well bringing me this present Aldo Rossetti. I will not have it said that the Lady of Cats breaks her oath._ She turned to her contingency of men. _Take him past the flock of Crows; see to it that he's uninjured._ All of the elves responded immediately to her orders bar one of the warriors.

"Wouldn't it be better just to kill him, milady?"

_Mercy to those who help us; death to those who do not._

"As you say, milday."

The others had quickly unbound the weakened Whisper and two of the rouges half carried him out of the room. He struggled against the shaft but the pain was too excruciating to move. The woman seemed to notice and Zevran felt the warmth of a healing spell extend down from her, it felt wrong though, different from the times he had been magically nursed by Elaria or Wynne, somehow corrupt. The spell did much to soothe the pain, but the arrow still remained through his knee and only more advanced curative magic could restore the shattered bone. The stabbing did not stop the questions racing through his mind however and he was glad to realise that the woman could not hear his thoughts, though she spoke within his head.

"Who are you?"

An unnatural laughter resounded around his aching skull. _Do you not recognise my voice, Zevran Arainai?_

"Yes but...it's impossible." That haunting giggle seemed a mockery of every time he had heard it before. His head screamed with the pain in his knee and the overwhelming waves of emotions that crashed against him.

_Nothing is impossible. _As she pulled back her hood the smell of rotten flesh became unbearable, he choked but could not turn his eyes away from the horror before him. Most of the corpse had deteriorated in the years since its death though some grey flesh still clung to the cheekbones of the gleaming white skull. The skin of the throat was still there, a vicious blackened wound crossed right across the maggot strewn flesh. The perpetual grin and empty eye sockets furthered the eerie nature of the dead things movement as it swept closer to him.

_What? Don't you recognise me? _The teeth chattered in laughter, so close to his face. The smell of decay hit his stomach hard and he had to fight to swallow the vomit that rose to his mouth. The movement of his coughing made his leg move further down the arrow. As he gasped with the pain bile rose through his sinuses and a horrible burning sensation filled his head.

_Perhaps you'll recognise me if I do this,_ the thing lifted up its gruesome head and the sound of tearing flesh rent the air as she exposed the grisly wound. The skin around it was festering and it moved in the most unnatural way as maggots crawled around the grotesque black mark. He turned his head away, shielding himself from the smell and the guilt.

"Rinna?" he choked out the question, half not believing it could be and half knowing that it was so.

The same giggle split his head open. _Merely the body of what you call Rinna, though the body does remember you well, Zevran. But enough talking we must leave before the Crows descend._

The thing that Zevran still refused to believe was Rinna tugged the arrow out of the floor and lifted him into its surprisingly strong arms. The pain was too much and darkness overwhelmed him.


	11. Chapter 11

_Elaria, Llomerryn_

* * *

_Bed Slave? Why did I say bed slave, there's plenty of other things I could've been, like a herbologist or...a travelling minstrel. _The dress Isabela had procured for her was Orlesian in style and thus highly extravagant and revealing. Panels of netting sliced triangles down the tight silken bodice. Her small cleavage was propelled upwards by the restricting ribbon corseted at the back of the dress, and another panel of lace only served to exaggerate the line between her breasts. She felt outrageously overdressed and uncomfortable in such attire, the petticoats underneath the silks itched her legs and the way it bulged out at her hips made her feel like a gaudy flower. Isabela had ruthlessly brushed Elaria's dry and tangled hair and smoothed it into two graceful buns at the back of her head.

She groaned as she left their sparse room in the Llomerryn tavern, knowing full well the stick she was going to get from the crew. Stairs were a difficult thing to navigate in the flowing skirts and she had to take them one at a time to stop from ripping the silk on her leather boots. Following the smell of breakfast and the sound of cutlery and joviality she went through a door to her left, into the private dining area of _The Mystic Sea_.

The stone room went silent as she entered. It started nearest to her and spread up the long table as sailors nudged one another each other. Thirteen pairs of eyes surveyed her and she had to stop herself from shifting uncomfortably under their gaze, instead she gritted her teeth and held her head up, meeting each of their looks with a stern one of her own. Aneirin broke the silence with a long low wolf whistle and the other men quickly followed it with other bawdy noises and comments of their own. Elaria felt a storm of emotion rage inside her, she was not used to being treated in such a manner, most people were generally too frightened of mages to objectify them. Her nails bit into the palms of her hands. In a terrifying moment of weakness she was back at that night at Vigils Keep_,_ bleeding, broken and finally beaten. The memory was fearsomely evocative and she had to fight to keep the cry from her lips. _It is not their fault, it's your experience that's making this so painful, _she had no idea where that thought had sprung from but it dulled the blade of her anger. The rabble was suddenly broken by a loud thud from the far end of the table, as Isabela struck her dagger into the wood in front of her.

"You men forget yourselves," she spat, and as one the crew hung their heads in shame. "This is Elowyn Tabris and she is _my_ woman. If any of you have a problem with treating her as such, just say the word and I'm sure I can think of a solution to your problem." She pulled the dagger out of the table in one easy motion and sat back in the seat that she had leapt from. "Apologise to her, now," she growled pointing the blade at Aneirin. The sharp silverite glistened in the early morning light as the elven bard jumped from his chair and threw himself at Elaria's feet.

"I am so sorry, milady. Please forgive us. We've been such a long time at sea and are, after all, mere men. When faced with a beauty such as yours..."

"Enough," Isabel interrupted, "Back to breakfast."

Aneirin pulled her up a wooden seat next to his Captain. As she walked past, the other members of the crew murmured apologies at her and she thanked them with a tepid smile. She sat heavily in the wooden chair. Anders was to her left and he reached for her hand under the table.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, squeezing her cold fingers into his warm palm.

"I'm fine," she sighed, removing her fingers from his. His hand lingered on her leg and she could feel its warmth through the silk. She gave him the same stern look she had given the sailors but the heat of his touch had stirred something within her. _Entirely inappropriate_. Anders removed his hand quickly and went back to his smoked haddock. Elaria speared a fish of her own from the pile on the plate in front of them, careful not to get her sleeve in the thick creamy sauce. Rivani food had taken a bit of getting used to; unlike the neighbouring Antiva they rarely used hot spices in their food but preferred to garnish with sweeter herbs such as cloves, cinnamon and saffron with sauces made from the milk of coconuts, whose trees lined their stormy shores. On the island of Llomerryn all sorts of fish were caught and it was a main feature of every meal including breakfast. At first she thought she would never be able to stomach such a heavy seafood diet, but her Grey Warden appetite had taken hold and she found herself eating the repulsive fare quickly so she did not have to taste it. The food was the least of the cultural differences.

Elaria remembered a leather-bound tome in the Circle's Library she'd been fond of, entitled _The Countries of Thedas; A guide to etiquette and social exchange from Ferelden to Par Vollen._ The Rivani section had detailed many of the nuances of their very different culture but it had done little to prepare Elaria for the real thing. The Chant of Light had never touched the Rivani people and although the country had a Circle of Magi, with Templars as well, it was truly only a facade to placate the Divine of Orlais. The matriarchal society revered their mages, going to the extent of elevating the best of the females to a position of authority known as a Seer. A pantheon of gods were worshipped in place of the Maker, all associated with nature; sailors who believed in the old faith would leave appropriate gifts to the wind god at their private altars whilst whores would sacrifice certain animals to the goddess of beauty to keep themselves young.

Most of the sailors had shuffled out of the private backroom by the time Elaria had finished eating. Isabela and Fabio were in the middle of a fierce discussion about the repairs on the ships, they spoke such quick Antivan that Elaria couldn't follow their conversation entirely, though she gathered that Isabela was not happy with the price that Fabio had ordered the repairs for. She got up to leave, thinking to go back to the privacy of her and Isabela's room, when the Captain broke off her debate and grabbed her arm.

"We're going to the Seer today, she's asked to meet you personally," she whispered so the three men at the end of the table couldn't hear her. "We leave as soon as I'm done here."

* * *

The narrow cobbled streets of Llomerryn were spotted with puddles from last night's rain. Elaria had to pick up her trailing skirts as she tried to follow Isabela's long strides. The Captain moved gracefully through the crowds gathered near the port, the people seemed to part before her and the mage tried to follow in her wake. All around them traders had set up stalls against the colourfully painted wattle and daub buildings that loomed over them. The merchants shouted out prices for their wares or bartered with customers in frantic Rivani. Stacks of fishing baskets and nets lined the streets nearest to the coast; whenever there was a break in the houses she could see the glittering waters of Rialto bay over the trader's striped canopies. Isabela took a sharp left, going deeper into the island, and suddenly they were in a large square. The houses that surrounded the open space were all painted the same dark shade of red. A makeshift stage had been erected and a man dressed in a gaudy purple doublet with yellow stockings and a plume of feathers in his hat seemed to be auctioning something off. Swarms of people, all varying in wealth and class, surrounded the stage shouting out bids. It was a second before she realised what was being sold, but when she did she stopped. An unshaven Qunari, in rags that only protected his dignity, was chained in heavy irons that ran between his hands and feet. The bonds had done nothing to break his strength however and he stood upright though his face was hollow and gaunt. He seemed to be somewhere else, ignoring the noise around him and staring straight ahead. His eyes betrayed no emotion. Elaria had to choke back her rage, knowing there was very little she could do for the man in her current state. _I cannot play the hero when I can barely even defend myself._ She was about to turn away when she felt a hand on her arm.

"I like it no more that you, but there's nothing we can do for him," Isabela whispered. "Come."

The island became much steeper the more inland you went, ending in a high pinnacle on top of which a tower had been built. The Seer's tower was visible from most parts of the island, its blackened stones reaching out to the skies like a defiant fist. A fire was lit every dusk on the top of the heights as a signal to start the smaller warning fires that littered the coastline. Isabela's crew had been full of stories about Llomerryn wreckers, who would turn off these flames on particularly stormy nights, so merchant ships would run aground on the rocky shoreline, scattering their goods onto the sands and into the waiting arms of the local pirates. As they climbed the slopes towards the tower the merchants disappeared to be replaced by brothels and taverns. Men and women dressed in flamboyant, colourful clothing sat on tables drinking, smoking and gambling, even though it was still early morning. A few of these people hailed greetings as they saw Isabela but very few gave Elaria a second glance. The anonymity was refreshing, in Denerim she'd had to go everywhere heavily disguised if she didn't want to be recognised but here if she told people who she was they probably wouldn't believe her; she hardly looked like a great battle mage in her silks.

The Captain ducked into a narrow alleyway between two buildings and stopped, throwing a smile over her shoulder. Elaria stood astounded. Leading up the steep incline as far as the eye could see a narrow set of blackened stone made a staircase. Buildings carried on either side of the incline making it almost impossible to see from the street. As Elaria moved to Isabela's side she could see that every step had a groove in the centre from heavy use. Shielding her eye's from the glaring sun she could see people traversing up the steppes, as small as ants from this far down.

"It's called The Ladder," Isabella grinned. "One thousand and seventy six steps in total."

"And it's the only way to the tower?"

"No, but it's the quickest."

"I can hear the rumours now, Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey battles an archdemon then falls to her death climbing the longest staircase in Thedas in a silk dress."

"I've seen women walk up it in Orlesian heels, you'll be fine."

"Yes, I suppose I should be thanking you for allowing to keep my boots," Elaria's voice dripped with sarcasm but she smiled, hiking her skirts up around her thighs. "Come on then, before I change my mind."

The ascent was not as bad as Elaria had expected, although she lost her footing a few times on the uneven steps. A quarter of the way up the buildings stopped as the ground around the flight of stairs became huge jagged rocks. From so far up Elaria could see the whole of one side of the island; its streets seemed a network as small and intricate as cobwebs. Clouds were flying over the town, making the light alternate between deep shadows and glorious brightness. Ships and boats bobbed in the ports, small black specks on the giant blue expanse. The wind was enough to take Elarias breath away and twice she almost fell as her skirts billowed like a sail. Most of the ascent was spent in silence as the breeze whistled against their ears and blew the words away from their mouths. Occasionally Isabela would turn to check on her friend and Elaria would respond with a smile. It felt invigorating to be so high up and battered by the elements, she had thought that the height would provoke the panic that hid inside her, but instead it made her feel alive. The sun was high in the sky before they reached the top.

Three men dressed in identical green dyed leather armour met them at the gateway to the walled off tower. From here its height was even more impressive. Built from the same dark rocks that made up the peak, it silhouetted against the blue sky. The men spoke to Isabela in Rivani as Elaria admired the building. Isabela was unbuckling the fastening for her longswords and the two daggers she carried on her thighs. One of the guards asked her in halting Antivian if she had any weapons and she shook her head. Once they were thoroughly disarmed they called up to the walls for the gates to be opened.

Elaria was surprised at the large open space beyond. A dark green lawn spread out before them, with raised soil beds full of flowers and vegetables. Clusters of children sat in the bright sunlight, all wearing identical robes of green, some were sat in circles quietly reading, other's tended the gardens, harvesting herbs and vegetables, a group sat at a large table covered in books and alchemical tools being instructed on the best way to grind elfroot in a mortar and pestle and in a large open space two older girls were practicing defence and primal magic respectively. Elaria felt a whole host of emotions at the familiarity of the place, surprised as she was to find herself somewhere so much like The Circle of Magi yet with many obvious differences. At first she'd thought there were no Templars, until she realised the men in the green armour were standing watching the fight between the two girls very closely though they did not have the fear in their eyes that Ferelden Templars had whenever they felt The Veil tear. In fact these helmess, lightly armoured warriors were cheering the girls on, shouting words of encouragement when they began to falter, helping them to their feet when they couldn't carry on and dispersing any stray magic whenever it was necessary. Elaria had never seen such a close bond between Templars and mages, in Ferelden their relationship was very much one of prisoner and guard but here she got the sense that they were working as a team. She realised she was lagging behind Isabela again, staring in her wonderment; she jogged along the cobbles to catch up with her friend.

"Isabela?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are the male mages?"

"The Seers don't accept male mages to study here. It is a woman's work to be a Seer, not a mans."

Further questions burned in Elarias head, but she knew the rouge, if she quizzed her too much her temper would be sure to rise, so she let them smoulder. At the base of the tower two Templars stood guard by a massive double door emblazoned with a wide open eye, the symbol of the Rivani Seers. They greeted them in Rivani as they pushed one of the doors open, with the help of a clever mechanism that helped to carry the weight.

The chamber beyond encompassed the entire bottom floor of the tower. Along the side walls two identical spiral staircases ascended upwards, built of the same strange stone that made up the entirety of the peak_. _A fine Orlesian carpet ran the length of the room ending at the foot of a dais. Three chairs were upon the raised platform, two at the same height and one higher, though Elaria could not see the faces of their occupants as three large windows poured light in behind them, making the figures into statues. She followed Isabela as they walked down the aisle watching her friend carefully for signals of what she must do. As they got closer she could see the three women more clearly. On the left seat sat a woman of extraordinary beauty, her blonde hair was almost as white as her skin, she reminded Elaria of the moon, such a pale magnificence that she seemed to glow when she shifted in her pure white robes. To the right sat a woman as dark as she was light, long black dreadlocks were tied behind her head with a thick green ribbon, she wore a multicoloured shawl over one shoulder and beamed an air of proud authority from her countenance. The highest chair was occupied by the oldest woman Elaria had ever seen. Her face was covered with scars and wrinkles, her nose looked like it had been broken at least twice but her eyes. _Maker, I've never seen eyes like that_. They seemed to have a light of their own and as Elaria got closer she thought she recognised the shifting waters of The Fade reflecting out at her.

When they were before the platform the two younger women upon it stood and bowed to them. Isabela did the same and Elaria followed suit, the elder merely nodded her head. The dark and light women greeted Isabela warmly in their own language and she responded in kind, the crone however only seemed to have eyes for the mage and Elaria soon found herself becoming lost in their depths. As the women continued talking she tore her eyes away not wanting to seem rude.

"Leave us," the elder barked suddenly in the King's Tongue. If the other women were shocked by her sudden command they did not show it. Before she slipped out of the room Isabela squeezed Elaria's hand in reassurance. The crone did not stir again until all was silent around them.

"It is a terrible thing, what that man did to you," her speech was almost a whisper, a croaky sound coming from deep within the woman's ancient throat. It felt like a thunderbolt had hit Elaria, she opened her mouth to ask a question but the woman spoke again before she could. "Do not ask me how I know, child. It is a question I grow wearisome of and one you very well know the answer to. It will suffice you to know that time in the Fade is an illusion that one, if one is learned in the right fields, can manipulate at will, it enables me to see not only the past but glimpses of the future." Elaria looked up at the woman, stunned. She could feel the power emanating from her frail body as The Veil pulsated around them.

"In Rivani we teach this art to our mages, it has only ever been women who were blessed with the sight. We gather them to our bosoms in hope to sharpen their abilities, much like your Circle pretends to, but here they are not prisoners, their every move is not watched, our people do not fear us." The woman leaned forwards in her chair with a quickness that Elaria would have thought impossible for one so decrepit. Her wrinkled face began to manoeuvre in the strangest way and it was a while before she realised the old crone was smiling. A small papery sound emerged from her throat and the cackle echoed around the high ceilings. It sliced through Elaria like a chill and she had to stop herself from shuddering.

"I would like to know how you feel about this child. You who know so well the double edged sword that we wield when we pierce The Veil. Answer me this; is it a gift or a taint?" The elder twisted her head to one side as Elaria pondered her answer meeting those all-seeing eyes with her ordinary green ones.

"I don't think it can be defined so easily," Elaria sighed at her lame answer. "It is both at the same time, a terrible curse and the sweetest gift." Her answer made the mage cackle again, but this time it broke off into a dreadful heaving cough. Elaria went to move to the shuddering woman but an ancient palm was raised to stop her.

"An interesting answer," she gasped through her coughs, when they had dulled down she continued. "Most of our own philosophers believe that every choice we make is one of either love or fear. They argue that the Chantry have taken the path of fear and this will one day be their ruin, as treading this way often is. Here, they say, we have taken the road of love, we grant our mages their freedom, they can come and go as they please and see their families at will. They are comforted by the knowledge that they and their Templar are oathbound; in the rare event that a mage has to be struck down the one to wield the sword will be their closest friend, sometimes even their lover. Often after such tragedy the Templars chose to take their own lives rather than continue without their mage. They are the blade and pommel of a sword; one without the other is either useless or uncontrollable." Elaria couldn't help compare their ideas with the friendship her and Alistair had forged on the road. When she first met him she had been appalled at her luck, to have just escaped the watchful glare of the Circle's Templars, to walk straight into the only Grey Warden Templar, perhaps in the whole of Thedas. Given time however she realised just how lucky she'd been to find him, as her powers changed and evolved so rapidly that some days it had taken every ounce of her willpower to control the violent energies. Whenever she felt this he would know instinctively and take appropriate action. Towards the end it only took the touch of his hand to bring her back. The Seer's papery voice broke through her reverie.

"Your answer shows your caution child, but it also shows your wisdom. You know that the path of love is not one that is taken easily; it is full of broken promises, of treachery. You must not let this taint you, do not become hard from the pitfalls, instead let them flow over you knowing that the pain from these hurts will fade and make you stronger, given time." The woman smiled down at her again and Elaria could not help but to reflect one back at her. There was something deeply comforting about the words. A very heavy sigh rattled in the woman's throat and her smile fell abruptly.

"After everything that has happened to you I wish I could give you comfort, child. To tell you your path is an easy one, but paths such as yours are very rarely taken without risk. I see blood in your future child, oceans upon oceans of gore and strife. The poison that blocks your power is not just of the body, but of the mind. You will not be given the answers that you seek; you will have to _take_ them, as you always have. I see mountains of dead crows, lining the streets of Antiva...I see..." The woman broke off as she began to cough again; Elaria ascended the steps of the dais to help the fragile woman and this time was not halted. A surprisingly strong hand grasped her arm.

"Zevran," she spluttered and when she coughed again blood came out upon Elaria's hand. "The cats have got Zevran." The woman's eyes were wild now; the oceans of The Fade crashing like ferocious waves. The cryptic tone of the statement made panic rise in her and she desperately wanted to ask more but the woman was obviously too stricken to speak.

"Help, somebody!" She cried as blood began to run from the woman's mouth in more regular spurts. The doors banged open and the three women came running down the length of the corridor followed by a trail of Templars. The young pale mage began to tear the Veil around them and Elaria felt a powerful healing spell ascend unto the gasping crone. They were surrounded by people as the mage sundered the Veil again, warmth and peace flowing from her fingertips. One of the Templars tried to lift the woman from Elaria's grasp but the elder hung onto her dress, the blood had stopped pouring but she was still whispering nonsense about cats and crows. Finally they managed to part her tight grip and one of the Templars carried the ill woman away as the rest of the group stood in silence.

The pale woman put her hand on Elaria's shoulder. "Do not fear for her, she is stronger than she looks," she said haltingly in the King's Tongue. The Warden managed a small smile but she could not help but feel that she was somehow to blame.

* * *

Since Elaria could remember she'd always gotten comfort from the skies. Whenever the realities of life began to weigh her down she found that looking up sometimes freed her from those burdens. The vastness of space above her always managed to invoke feelings of insignificance and that was certainly comforting, at least to her. During the Blight it had become a ritual, that their band of mismatched men would come together and watch the sunset. The memories made Elaria ache for those moments of comfort with her closest companions, how Alistair and Leliana had begun a scoring system out of ten for every beautiful day's end, how Shale had stood complaining of the squishy beings over-sentimentalism towards nature, how it had felt to be bundled in Zevran's arms whilst Morrigan and Wynne argued behind them about philosophy and ethics.

This sunset, she had stolen a bottle of rum from Isabela's personal supply, snuck out the back way from the tavern dressed in her armour with Duncan's dagger at her hip. She'd had enough of silk skirts for one day so instead she wore a long dark cloak over her armour, with a hood to hide her face. She sat on the deserted beach occasionally swigging the lightly spiced spirit. The orb was nearly at the horizon and casting the entire deserted sea front with a fluorescent glow when she heard footsteps she recognised behind her. Fabio had been insistent that she try to learn the sounds of all her friend's steps and these had been some of the first that she'd remembered.

"Hello Anders," she sighed without turning around. He sat down on the sand next to her, far closer than she would have liked.

"I knew I'd find you here. I heard you had a tough day," his voice was full of concern. She took a swig from the bottle and passed it to him, lowering her hood as she did so. He took a long draft on the spirit, gasping when he finished.

"Are you alright Anders?" She tried to give him a smile but he wouldn't catch her eye. He stared straight ahead, looking deep into the sunset and seeming not to hear her. His eyebrows were knit together in worry as he bit his lip. Strands of his dark blonde hair had escaped his ponytail and fell in tendrils framing his well chiselled features.

"I have to tell you something Elaria," his voice was nearly a whisper as he turned to her. He was so close to her she could feel the breath that carried his words on her face.

"Please don't..."

"Elaria listen to me," he grasped her hands as he leant his forehead against hers. "Our lives are short and precious things, especially being Grey Wardens. We have very little time to do the things we do, to say the things we have to say. The journey here made me realise that more clearly than I ever have."

"Please don't so this Anders," she felt hot tears spring to her eyes and large soft fingers wipe them away.

"I have to," he smiled, and she could feel his cheekbones move as he did. It had been so long since she'd been touched like this, so gently and warmly, that tingles began to arise where they were joined. "Elaria, you are an extraordinary woman, you're strong and beautiful, ruthless but still kind. Any man would be thrilled at the thought of being with you. You've probably already broken so many better hearts than mine." This brought a sob from her throat; he made soothing noises to calm her. "I just... I have to tell you, I can't leave it unsaid any longer. I love you Elaria Surana." He lifted her head up now and looked straight into her watering eyes. She felt like she was standing on the blade of a knife, on one side beamed this warmth and love and peace that Anders was offering her and on the other the dark abyss of the unknown.

"Ander's I can't..." but she broke off and he shushed her, wiping away her tears.

"I'm not asking anything of you," he whispered. "Just this one thing," and he kissed her. He parted her shocked lips with his own and before she knew what was happening she was responding. His tongue was taking deep passionate tastes of her and she could feel small waves of healing magic shudder over them both. The experience was intense and intoxicating but Elaria soon remembered herself and broke away from her friend.

"I can't," she repeated but his mouth had moved to her ear now and his hands were running down her neck to her chest.

"A wise woman once told me that we should take our pleasures when we can," his voice was thick with lust in her ear. She shuddered at the words that Zevran had once said to her coming from his lips and pulled away from the healer. She saw his stung look before he could hide it. "I'm sorry Elaria." He ran his fingers through his hair and over his stubble covered face. She grabbed his hand and held it briefly in her own before moving away from him completely. Anders sighed heavily.

"If this is about what that bastard did to you Elaria, I'm more than happy to wait. Forever if need be."

She risked a glance at him but the love and pleading in his eyes was too much for her to bear, she turned her gaze back to the now set sun.

"It's not that Anders. It's..." she trailed off unwilling to say the words. The silence hung between and the atmosphere shifted as realisation dawned.

"It's Zevran isn't it?" the words were a whisper but the bite of rage behind them was all too clear. She nodded, still unable to look at him.

"Do you love him?" Even the deep breath she took didn't steady her pounding heart or the rising feeling that came from the pit of her stomach. She had no answer to his question. Those very same words had spun her around in tight knots until she was no longer even sure what the question meant. _What does love even mean?_ Such elusive questions plagued her even now.

"Does he love you?" Unphased by her lack of response he ploughed on. She was sensitive to the emotion welling in his voice but she no more had an answer to this question than she did the last.

"I don't know," she managed through her tight chest.

"But he left you..." he left the rest unsaid as a sob fought past her defences and escaped her lips.

"It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" he said it quietly as though he didn't want her to hear. The words pierced her broken heart as surely as an arrow would have. It tore away at _months_ of excuses she'd used to blanket the wound, _he's coming home soon, he has business to deal with, I never released him from his oath, _all ripped away by two words. Her strength failed as she tried to hold back the fear, the worry, the ache. As it consumed her a howl escaped her lips. She fought for breath against her tears, huddling herself into her knees. Anders sighed heavily.

"Over the year I've known you, you've had this pain inside you," he was no longer angry, his words were filled with sadness. "I just want to see you happy, truly happy. I can't help but think that Zevran is the cause of your suffering and that he doesn't deserve your tears." She felt the warmth of his large hand on the back of her neck, massaging her aching muscles, stroking her hair as she cried.

The sun had completely set by the time she looked up and stars were starting to glimmer in the chilly night, she shuddered when she felt the cold and Anders drew her closer to him.

"Come on let's get you back to the tavern, little dove. Before Isabela has my guts for garters."


	12. Chapter 12

_Zevran, Unknown location,_

Time was an illusion in the crippling darkness, days bled into weeks and maybe months for all his addled brain could recall. It seemed forever since he'd seen the day, all he could remember was this oppressive blackness and the pain that rattled through him. Occasionally he struggled to think of his own name but that was only when the torment from his knee was at its peak. He could no longer tell the difference between dreams and memories, between reality and his own imaginings. Sometimes he even forgot how he came to be here but then the thing that inhabited Rinna's decaying flesh would make a visit, reminding him of it all in one horrible flash.

Thick iron chains bound his hands above him though he had been granted a bench to sit on to take the weight off his injured leg. They had stripped him of his armour and his naked body shivered in the cold dankness of his solitary prison. Pain and hunger were his constant companions. He thought he could remember being fed, a thick tasteless gruel that burned his dry throat, but he could not be sure whether this memory was true. His whole being throbbed with dehydration, he had taken to licking the damp walls that he could reach just to satiate his thirst. When his broken body finally fell into fitful sleep his dreams were so visceral and vivid that he awoke more tired than he had been before he rested. He could never remember the dreams entirely, however much he tried to cling to them in his endless waking hours. All his fevered brain would allow him was the face of an elven woman with hair the colour of flame and pale skin that smelt of storms. A name for the lady would sometimes come to him but always there was a feeling of warmth associated with her. _Hope_ he thought, but the word seemed somehow foreign.

He awoke to a strange sensation on his foot, twisting his sleep filled head to one side he looked down. A rat was moving between his legs in the darkness. Finding that he didn't have the strength to shoo it away he let the animal run around his bare feet as he lent his head against the cold hard stone. He had lost the feeling in some of his fingers, but when he tried to flex them violent tingles of pain pinned his bruised and broken body. He tried to gather his thoughts, tried to remember who he was and why he was here. In infuriating slowness, like the dripping of water, he began to recall as he did every time he awoke. _Zevran, my name is Zevran._ In this endless darkness a name seemed like a useless thing, but he knew that it was important to remember who he was and where he had come from, if there was any hope of returning from this madness.

A creak echoed around the chamber and the stench of death that came with it signalled the presence of the Lady. He had long grown accustomed to the intensity of the smell as it mingled with his own fevered reek. Water was pressed against his cracked dried lips and he drank it greedily trying to ignore the flavour of decay that came with it. The hand only allowed him tiny sips of the refreshment and long before he'd had his fill it broke off. He gasped as he felt the cool water run through him, it was a feeling that had grown so alien it almost hurt. The rat at his feet had fled at her entrance and now all he could hear was her shuffling gait as she paced the floor in front of him.

_Do you know who I am?_ The question echoed around his pounding mind. These sorts of questions were always linked with an intense pain at the wrong answer. He racked his tired brain, trying to make connections from behind the mists of his migraine.

"The Lady of Cats," he croaked wincing even though pain did not come this time.

_What do I want?_ His mind reeled and span as he tried to remember if he'd ever answered this question correctly.

"To destroy the Crows," a sharp pain in his gut immediately preceded his answer. Under the cacophony of his hurt, it took a while for him to realise that he had been stabbed. Warm blood flowed at the deepness of the wound, soon it began to run over his legs and drip onto the floor beneath him. Consciousness began to fade until he felt the Veil tear and his flesh began to knit together, closing the gash. The blood continued to leak over his legs.

_You seem to have trouble with this question. I will tell you the answer._

He began to lose the battle with consciousness as her voice resounded through his skull.

_Vengeance._ As the hiss of the word died he felt himself falling into the grasp of sleep.

* * *

_They had found a clearing in the forests near Denerim. The dense undergrowth parted to reveal the brightly lit open space. The two elves burst from the shaded undergrowth and into the warmth of the trees with laughter on their lips. Her smile flashed over her shoulder as she wriggled out of the high waist trousers complaining of the sticky summer heat. He watched her undress with a hunger he had been feeling for a long time, making an offhand comment about her beauty. Her legs were as pale as the rest of her, littered with strawberry coloured gashes that were stark against the whiteness. The tunic she was wearing barely covered her small clothes as she stepped elegantly from the puddle of her trousers. She drew her enchanted longsword and when they agreed on a no magic rule, a dagger appeared in her left hand. Zevran smiled as she turned to face him in a stance that he had taught her. He echoed the movements of her body as they began to circle one another._

_To an outsider it may have seemed choreographed, though this dance was one they had practiced at least once a week for the last three months, it did not have set moves. They had began to get so familiar with each other's tactics and movement that they tangoed around each other at lightning speed, blocking and attacking in a whirl of blades and smiles and laughter. This time though Zevran was going to break the tradition, rather than swinging high, as he knew Elaria expected, he crouched and swept her feet out from under her with a cat like grace. Knowing that the tempestuous mage would continue fighting even though the fall had disarmed her of both her swords, he quickly straddled her, throwing his longsword to the ground and pinning her hands above her head with his dagger at her throat. He smiled at the shock in her eyes._

_"And now what will you do?" _

_She stretched her neck towards the blade so it broke the skin slightly almost inviting him to take her life. It was a moment before he realised just how alone they were in the clearing, they had walked for miles, away from their companions. If he were to slit her throat now he could be away, perhaps even on a ship out of Ferelden, before they even found her body. It would simply be another broken oath for the piles that he had shattered before. The sudden urge was shattered by the unwavering look in Elaria's eyes, one of acceptance at her fate, ready to meet her death with the same resolute manner which she entered any battle._ _He threw the blade away and kissed her._

_To begin with they were all teeth and sharpness, but as she realised his intentions she relaxed and parted her lips. He gave her little flicks of his tongue, teasing them both with small samples of each other, tasting the tingling metallic flavour of lyrium on her lips. One hand steadied him on the ground above her head and as the other began exploring the softness of her legs, creeping upwards. Her hands were deeply entangled in his hair and she grasped a bunch in her fist as his expert fingers brushed against her smallclothes. He released her lips from his own to hear her gasps as he found her little nub of bliss. He had spent months wondering what she would sound like when she was being pleasured and he was far from disappointed at her quiet sighs and tiny mewls. As he moved the cotton to one side, her hands found their way under his loose fitting shirt. His calloused fingertips brushed gently against her wetness and she gasped, her hips trying to writhe onto him. He chuckled and whispered for her to be patient, advice he strained to follow himself as he brushed her sensitive mound with his thumb. Her hands were on his belt buckle and as she pulled herself up as they struggled with the rest of their clothing between frantic kisses and moans. When he unravelled her breast weave he pushed the naked mage gently back onto the floor and lay over her, admiring her body. She was small and thin, even for an elf, but she had softness to her, where ever his hand seemed to roam he found pale delicate suppleness. He felt her eyes trace the tattooed lines of his body and when they caught each other's gaze their smiles were thick with lust. He crawled up her body, taking a pink nipple into his mouth and hardening it with his tongue. Her hand was tracing delicate lines over his stiff shaft and running her thumb up and down its length. She caught his ear with her tongue and whispered "Please," into it. His discipline broke down and he guided himself into her. He tried to begin slowly but her hips thrust him deeper into her warmth without warning. It was his turn to gasp as she clenched around him pulling him further into her. He used one hand to pin her hip to the floor, desperate to take his time with the little mage even though she seemed to have other ideas. As he withdrew almost completely her hips bucked under his hand and a moan that tested his patience to its limits escaped her lips. Her wetness was drenching him as he plunged himself deeply back inside her. Her intake of breath was music to his ears, and he felt her grip his cock tightly. _

_"It feels very good, yes?" He whispered and she murmured in wordless agreement. He set a slow rhythm with his body as she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. He released her hips once she seemed to agree with his slow pace and they danced, gasping with each other, their foreheads pressed together and their gaze's intent on one another. When her breaths became deeper and more ragged the scent of a gathering storm came from her, and small stings of lighting brushed over their skin. He shuddered at the unexpected, heady mixture of pleasure and pain. She took the moment he was off guard to press her attack. Pushing herself upwards with the palm of her hands and her hips she was suddenly and elegantly on his lap. Her lips snaked away at a much faster pace as she threw her head back with pleasure. He grasped her to him, his lips pressing against her stormy skin and biting down as they both reached their climax. Sparks flew all around them as they clung breathlessly to each other._

Reality broke into his dream shattering it into a thousand pieces that he struggled to recall. Blank blackness replaced the sweet scent that was his last recollection of the delusion. _Or was it a memory?_ Zevran was coated in a thin layer of sweat and his whole being felt as though it were aflame. He tried to wriggle against the coolness of the wall but even the smallest movement brought a thousand tiny needles across every muscle. He tried to look down to evaluate the damage to his body but his head swam and lights danced in front of his eye lids. As he fought the overwhelming darkness of unconsciousness that seeped into his vision he thought he heard a movement in the room around him. _I'm hallucinating_, but then she spoke.

_You have not been doing very well answering my questions. _As the dead thing came closer Zevran could see the faint outline of her robe in the darkness. _So I have decided to change the game. I will ask the questions and you will answer them. Do you understand?_ He didn't understand, words seemed to stream into one another and it sounded like nonsense when he tried to find meaning in them. She did not seem concerned by his lack of response. _You will tell me who this Elaria is right now._ That struck him from his stupor, it felt like a name that didn't belong here in these dark depths. It rang bright bells filled with hope and peace but nothing more to his dulled thoughts. His lack of response drew the woman closer to him. There was a strangely familiar sound like a silent ripping that he thought he should recognise and then his pain was suddenly lifted. He felt as though he were sinking into a warm cleansing bath as her healing magic washed over him. As she sustained the spell and he felt his tenseness unwind, small cuts and bruises healed and even the rawness in his throat and the sharp blade of hunger were quelled by the magic. Then suddenly she stopped and it all crashed back down on him like a violent wave. Starting with the stabbing jolt to his knee that tore the wound open a new, bringing with it the stench of corrupted flesh, moving up as a scars stopped knitting themselves closed, the dead weight of his arms and the stinging of the wounds at his wrists from the tight metal bonds, tiny parchment thin cuts littered the inside of his mouth and tongue, as his face moved in pain he felt the rawness of a fresh wound there, running diagonally from this forehead to his cheekbone. A cry stabbed sharply at his throat at the intense onslaught. Her laughter pierced through him.

_Tell me who she is Zevran and I may heal your wounds properly._ Although the words jumbled in his bruised mind he garnered meaning from them now but when he tried to respond the words caught in his dry throat. Water was poured onto his lips and even the little that she allowed him was enough to soothe it somewhat. Connections began to fire in his brain out of desperation for an end.

"We...fought together...Blight," was all he managed before the sharp roughness returned like sandpaper against his glands, even speaking as little as he had was exhausting.

_The Grey Warden?_ He tried to nod his head but torment rippled through him. Every one of her words was like a nail hammered into his skull. _It sounded like you were enjoying yourself in your dream. Tell me this; was it so easy to fall into her bed after what you did to this body?_ The words came out a dangerous whisper of anger echoing hauntingly inside him. When he did not respond her rage rose. He smelt burning flesh before he felt the pain. Her skeletal hand scorched his chest as she Tore the Veil, branding him with its mark. A howl of pain rose unbound from his gut but when it reached his lips it had morphed into a whimper. After what seemed like an eternity she removed her hand. Breathing was becoming difficult though he could hear his ragged shallow inhalations he felt like he was suffocating. She was close to him now; he could _hear_ the maggots moving over the wound at her throat.

_This body remembers what you did. It remembers the sweet things you breathed into its ears._ She ran her wasted hand softly over his scarred face. He did not have the energy to recoil though the movement of the bone over his wounds felt unnatural. _ It remembers how you felt when you moved inside it._ Her hand moved downwards onto his neck and Zevran felt the familiar burning of bile rising in his stomach._ And it remembers how you spat on it as it pleaded for its life._ With this the bones of her finger pressed hard into the newly burnt skin of his chest. His whole body tensed as it resounded with hurt. She moved away from him then and he began to feel a darkness descend.

He was sure he was dreaming a moment later when he heard something coming from outside of the chamber. The sound of steel ringing made him think of bells but it was difficult to think and bells felt somehow wrong. A sudden loud bang pulled him from his trailing thoughts and he imagined he could hear whispers in the dark.

_How have they found us?_ She was even angrier now but Zevran couldn't understand why, the bells seemed joyful to him, somehow peaceful. When he closed his eyes it was not darkness he saw but a blinding comforting whiteness. 


	13. Chapter 13

_Elaria, Antiva City_

* * *

A month later than she had anticipated, in the pre dawn winter light, sprawled the glittering gem of Antiva City. The lateness of the year did little to weaken the intensity of the sun, in this part of Thedas, as it broke over the horizon, accompanied by dazzling ribbons of cloud cast a multitude of colours by its radiance. Light bounced off the thousands of windows, in buildings that seemed to rise up out of the sea as the repaired _Siren's Call _sped towards harbour.

The week it had taken to cross the Rialto Bay Elaria had spent sparring with Fabio. Her eccentric tutor had praised her increasing strength and inexhaustible stamina. She almost began to feel ready for the fight she knew awaited her. The training had absorbed her completely taking her mind off the Seer's mysterious premonition and the reverberation of worry that came with it. Though Isabela had probed her many times on the nature of the woman's vision, Elaria could never bring herself to discuss it; the wound that Zevran had left her with had re-opened and was festering; every thought she had of him had become tainted. However as they watched Antiva drawing nearer the mage had questions burning in her mind that would not be put out.

"Is there anything special about cats in Antiva, Isabela?" She glanced at the Captain who raised an eye brow at the question.

"Other than the amount of them, not really," she responded. "Why do you ask?"

Elaria sighed heavily wrinkling her brow in disappointment. She had searched every book on Antiva that the libraries of Llomerryn had to offer and found no reference at all to cats. She had tried to visit the Seer but the pale maiden had told her firmly but kindly that the elderly woman was far too ill to speak with her.

"Something the Seer said."

"About cats?" Isabela snorted incredulously, "what exactly did she say?"

Elaria hesitated but her friend crossed her arms and gave her a look Elaria knew signalled Isabela had ways of making her talk and she was not above using them. "Tell me."

"She said that the cats have got Zevran," his name felt so strange on her lips, so little had she said it since his departure. Isabela's face morphed into a mask of confusion as she tried to solve the riddle.

"Sure it wasn't crows?"

"Positive." The women stood in a silent shared worry over their friend. Isabela put her hand on Elaria's shoulder.

"Zevran will be fine, sweet thing. He's as tough to kill as we are," her fingers squeezed as she smiled but Elaria was not comforted. She broke away from Isabela's gaze and looked back towards the emerging city. "We will find him, Elaria."

"I don't know if I want to find him," the words came straight from her wounded heart and out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to process them. Isabela gave a dark chuckle but her face dropped when she saw Elaria was serious.

"What? Why?"

Elaria inhaled deeply, steadying herself. It had been such a long time since she'd spoken to anyone about her feelings for Zevran that she didn't know where to start. What lay between them was such a complex web of tangled emotions and desires that she felt like talking about it would just be too confusing. The more she tried to condense it down into a sentence or a word the more her feelings waxed and waned. Anders attempt at reducing the problem had only added more threads of uncertainty.

"I'm not who I was when he left," was the simplest way she could put it. The truth of her words was obvious merely by looking at her, though it was not simply the psychical changes. Thousands of new scars littered her body, her rigorous training had toned her feminine curves, once red curls now tangled in shades of midnight, she even smelt different; of steel and sweat rather than lightning and lyrium, but it was something deeper. She had lost the air of confidence had once fitted her like armour, entering every fight with cocky determination, built by her torrent of victories. There were moments in the midsts of those battles that she no longer feared death but cackled in its face as the primal powers of the Fade flowed through her veins and out of her fingertips. That had all ended at Vigils Keep. Now when she thought of battle only one word came to mind, caution.

As they stood, both alone with their thoughts, the crew around them were getting ready to dock, the sails were coming down and Fabio was steering the ship into the current. When she shielded her eyes from the sun she could just make a small crowd of people gathered to watch the spectacle in the sunrise. Gulls screeched their morning chorus, streaming along beside them in the sky hoping they were one of the many Antivan fishing vessels.

The Polmero docks were the only natural harbour in Antiva and the largest. Two huge outcrops of rock almost encircled the docks, upon which stood two identical fire towers, much like the ones in Llomerryn. As they entered the safety of the enclosure the water changed colour, the azure sapphire met a brown layer of foam and sludge. Elaria had to hold her breath to stop from vomiting. The harbour was practically a cesspit, the slow moving waters of the bay did very little to cleanse away the filth from the thirty or so manned boats that were moored here. The stench of their waste mingled with the smell of the industrial merchants, tanners and boat builders, blacksmiths and stables that were all heaped into one stinking part of the city. A multitude of ships and boats ranging from the fast cutters that were the signature ship of merchants to tiny row boats almost filled the harbour. Fabio steered them expertly next to a line of five other similarly sized ships, which formed a bridge onto the walls of the harbour.

The crew were all assembled above deck and the air was thick with joviality as their First Mate went between them handing out their payments. When Isabela cleared her throat a hush came over them.

"Fabio and Aneirin drew the short straws so they get first watch 'til noon," the sailors around them cat-called and shoved the unlucky men in a boisterous but friendly manner. "I will be back before then to draw up the watch rota, we will be here for quite a while gentlemen so best settle in." A roar of approval went up at that; for many of these men this city was their home. "I want you all back here before midnight, do not make me come looking for you. Now go fuck and drink your way through Antiva! " Another round of shouting and a small group even started chanting Isabela's name as they clambered over the adjoining ships and onto solid ground.

"I didn't realise you planned on staying," Elaria smiled at the Captain.

"Yes well, Alistair paid me rather a lot to keep you safe."

"Oh of course, the money, not friendship or, Maker forbid, empathy."

"Certainly not," Isabela snorted but Elaria saw the smirk playing about her lips. "You better go and wake Anders up. I swear that man could sleep through a Blight."

Before she could open the door to their shared cabin however it flung open. Anders looked stricken as he stumbled onto the deck.

"Maker what is that _smell_?" The remaining crew and Elaria laughed at his distress.

"That is the smell of Antiva my friend," Fabio inhaled deeply. "Ahh smells like home." He grinned at the horrified look on the mages face and clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it, everybody does."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"You'd _better_ get used to it, The Pits doesn't smell any better," Isabela teased.

"The Pits?" Anders looked worried.

"It's what they call the poor side of the city, where you'll be staying." He groaned at this but Fabio patted him on the back and smiled.

"You won't be disappointed, it may stink, but The Pits are the finest part of town, if you know where to go. I will give you a personal tour, my friend, once my Queen has no further need of me." Anders hardly looked overjoyed and the prospect but he managed a weary grin.

"I suppose I better escort the two of you to your tavern," Isabela stepped elegantly over the gaps between her ship and the one anchored next to it.

"What about our stuff?"

"I'll send men with it later, come on."

The city was a blur of colour. Even in this smoke filled industrial quarter tall rickety wooden buildings had been decorated with murals, indicating what provisions they offered. They walked through endless markets where the traders were setting up stalls which glittered and glistened with their wares. Balconies were populated with beautiful men and women, mostly elves, calling out to the streets below them the deviancies of their trade. A row of artists had set up easels, each eager to paint the sun as it rose over the misshapen city roofs. They turned into countless back roads, which seemed to house specific trades, down one a group of men sat around a hookah pipe and the reek of tobacco and herbs billowed down the street, another a woman sat half naked in the sun as a man tattooed a large eye on the centre of her back. Occasionally Isabela would halt to talk to someone she knew, and the two mages would hold back. She did not feel out of place in her long cloak and hood, it seemed to be the garb of most of the Antivian residence.

Her mouth began watering as they walked past a food market. Antivian street food was famous across Thedas and even though it was early morning these stalls were still open. Thick bottomed iron pans were frying vegetables and meat over an open flame. The smell was fantastic; the earthy but sweet scent of caramelising onions, strong wafts of garlic and vinegary elfroot seeds all pervaded with the spicy heat of Antivian fire peppers. She ordered a wooden bowl of _agnello speziato_ and ate it down greedily. Offering Anders a spoonful he gave her a look mingling disgust and incredulity which almost made her snort the spicy food out of her nose.

It was overt when they entered The Pits. The buildings became less colourful and the traders thinned out, replaced by skeletal beggars and bleary eyed whores. Anders went to help one particularly stricken looking woman, heavily pregnant but the skin wrapped around her naked torso was pulled so tight that her ribs were exposed. Before he could reach her however Isabela put her hand on his shoulder.

"Help one and you will be doomed to help them all," she whispered frantically in the Kings Tongue gesturing to the lines of the unwashed populace, most of which were still huddled closely together, not wanting to except that another day of strife, hunger and disease had broken upon them. Anders looked as though he was going to object but Elaria put her hand on his shoulder.

"Later," she murmured as the Captain moved out of hearing range. As they continued so did the poverty, desperate eyes calloused by jealousy followed their every step, families clung together reaching out from the dust strewn streets crying in exhausted voices for alms or mercy or both. She could see Anders struggle to maintain his composure but Isabela walked calmly, picking her way cautiously around the malnourished masses.

"Look, Isabela..." Anders began, his composure finally breaking. Isabela whirled around, Elaria was glad the look on her face was not directed at her.

"You can only help those who can help themselves; these people are beyond salvation," she almost spat at him. He seemed shocked by the sudden outburst as the Captain span back around, her pace faster than before. Elaria was unsurprised; Isabela had always been a bit touchy when it came to helping the needy.

"Just leave it for now, alright," she saw him gritting his teeth but he followed her. The desolated homeless seemed to thin as they entered a wider dirt street. The wooden buildings around her gained a storey, some of which even had balconies. Though there were very few awake in this part of town Elaria could still feel eyes peeking out from shuttered windows. Finally Isabela stopped in front of a particularly run down building with a sign that creaked in the occasional breeze depicting a beautiful woman rising topless out of a pond, her mouth open as if in speech.

"The Nymph's Song_,_" said Isabela, all the anger gone from her voice, replaced by wistful smile. "You'll like it here," the captains eyes found Elaria's, even hidden as they were in the shadow of her hood. Taking the two steps upwards onto the shade of the porch she tried the door and upon finding it locked rapped loudly but tunefully on the wood. After a while they heard a sound above them and backed to see the balcony.

"Isabela," a woman with dishevelled raven curls streaming down her back and skin the colour of bronze yawned down from the balcony.

"Come let us in Vita," the captain smiled back in Antivian and the slight woman padded back through her door.

"What did she say?"

"Anders if you are going to ask me to translate everything then you'll have to actually start paying me," Elaria grinned back at him.

"Some interpreter you are," he scoffed but was quickly silenced from by sound of a key in a lock and the door opening.

The closer Vita got the more striking she was. As she swept into Isabela's arms and the captain picked the tiny woman up, her green eyes flashed like emeralds over the other companions.

"Who are your friends?" She beamed up at them after Isabela had put her gently back on her feet.

"I'll introduce you, inside, over some brandy."

As the two women streamed inside arm in arm Anders gave Elaria a questioning look.

"Brandy inside, now."

The common room was completely deserted as Vita went about opening shutters and curtains. The whole building had a silence to it that is normally only felt at night, where the slightest sound seemed to pierce the hush like a blade. Isabela took a stool at the bar that ran the length of the room behind which hundreds of old dusty bottles were piled up on shelves. The wardens pulled up stalls next to her as Vita stood on the tips of her toes to reach the grimy bottle of brandy, she wiped three tumbler glasses with a rag that looked dirtier that the glasses themselves before pouring the dark amber liquid into them.

"Get yourself a glass too," Isabela said flicking a gold coin that Vita deftly caught. "And leave the bottle." Vita grinned cheekily at them before pouring herself a slightly smaller glass, stowing the coin away in an apron she had put over her flimsy nightgown.

It had been a long time since Elaria had drunk spirits in the morning but she gulped the cheap brandy down greedily enjoying the stinging warmth that filled her stomach.

"Anders this is Vita, Vita this is Anders," Isabella introduced, switching between the Kings Tongue and Antivian appropriately. "And this is his translator Elowyn." Elaria pulled back her hood and gave a nod at the girl. Vita seemed transfixed by her for a second, an odd expression on her face that disconcerted the Warden.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Vita grinned at them both as Elaria translated for Anders. His smile matched hers as he swigged the brandy.

"So what brings you to Antiva? You're from Ferelden right? I can tell by your accent."

"Anders is on business with the Circle," lied Isabella. Vita glanced between the three of them, looking for cracks in their steel armour and finding none.

"So why doesn't he stay at the Circle?" Anders shifted uncomfortably in his confusion, knowing he was the subject of their discussion but not understanding a word.

"He prefers to stay here. Who wouldn't, with such delicious company?" Isabela reached across the bar and stroked the girls face. Vita pressed her hand to Isabela's, a half smile on her lips. But Vita was only momentarily distracted by the flattery and turned to Elaria instead.

"Do you know the Warden? If you're from Ferelden..."

But this time she was stopped by a loud bang as a door opened behind the bar revealing a dark kitchen and a very angry plump woman.

"You're making such a racket I could hear you from my bedroom Vita," she growled, her thin wiry hair was still in a sleeping net and bright red lipstick was smeared across her dark well lined face. Her glaring steely eyes surveyed them both but when they snapped to Isabela they narrowed.

"You?!" she spat. "I told you never to come back here. You are barred forever, you understand? Barred!" Isabela raised a perfect eyebrow at this, leaning forwards onto the bar.

"It's nice to see you too Rosa. It's been so long." She smiled brightly as the woman quivered with anger.

"The last time you were here you started a fight that broke tables, chairs, bottles and my poor dead mamas favourite vase and now you waltz back in here, three years later as if nothing happened?!"

"Zevran started that fight actually..." Elaria felt herself stiffen at his name, but Vita's eyes had sprung to hers at the same time so she desperately tried to hide her discomfort.

"If you answer me back once more, girl. I'll put you over my knee..."

"Oh come now Rosa, can we not settle this?" Isabela pulled out a small but weighty pouch from her breast band. "How much damage was it? Twenty sovereigns cover it?" The captain counted the twenty gold out slowly as the Madams eyes widened at the coin.

"Ahh Isabela, you should have said something," her countenance completely shifted as she secreted the coins quickly about her person. She pulled up a seat next to Vita's, pouring herself a large glass of brandy.

"So, who are your friends?" Elaria quickly translated her words and she smiled. "Ahh from Ferelden are you? And a pretty one too, what's your name, sweet thing?" The woman beamed at her, tangling her aged face in lines of lipstick and rogue.

"Elowyn Tabris. I'm from Denerim, mam. And this is Anders..."

"From the Circle of Magi I presume," she said in a broken mixture of Antivan and the Kings tongue, eyeing his robes. "I would have placed your accent more westerly than that." She smiled at the shock Elaria could not conceal. "My Aunty brought me up with her husband who was part of an acting troupe from Gwaren. I grew up travelling around Ferelden with them, until he died and she brought me home," she continued speaking in her garbled King's Tongue when she suddenly broke off, looking dreamily into the distance at something no-one else could see. As quickly as the trance had come over she snapped away from her reveries. "So, what is it you three need of us humble whores?"

Anders' eyebrows rose at that and Elaria had to twist the smile she felt trying to spread across her face down.

"Two rooms, if you'd be so good Rosa," said Isabela before Anders could respond.

"I've only got the one, I'm afraid. It's a month until Saturnalia and I'm already booked up. It's a big room though, if you don't mind sharing."

"Ellie can have Zev's room," Elaria almost choked on her mouthful of brandy. The two women turned with identical looks of surprise and intrigue on their faces. "What? He's obviously not here, or we wouldn't be drinking this piss, he'd be sat in his corner with a bottle of something much finer." Isabela's words made their four eyes snap behind Elaria's head and she felt prickles up her spine as though he were truly sat behind her. She had to fight her instinct to turn around and check. _He's not there. He's not there. He's not there._ She gritted her teeth and took a silent but deep breath to calm the rising waves of panic that crashed inside her stomach. It was so strange being among these women, there were not many people she had met who were _fond_ of Zevran, but warmth and love beamed from Vita and Rosa's faces. Her soul was torn with affection for them though there was a sharp sting to it, a sense that she was somehow intruding on Zevran's privacy. When Rosa's gaze came back to hers it was full of knowing.

"I shall give you the spare key to his room, though I warn you, Carmen refuses to clean in there after the last time," the woman rolled her eyes and tutted. "If you intend make poisons on my property please clean up _properly_ afterwards, yes?" Elaria repressed the smile that came from her lips.

"Wait, does that mean that you're..." but before Vita could finish Rosa has given her a sharp look that made her splutter to a stop.

"Quit with your questionings girl, whores shouldn't ask so many as you. Now, show this young man to his room," Elaria enlightened Anders as to the situation and he and Vita went up the stairs, she chatting happily in Antivan and him not understanding a word but never the less transfixed.

"Well, if that's all settled I'm going back to the ship," said Isabela draining the last of the brandy from the bottle and making a face. "You'd do well to get some better brandy in before I'm back."

"And when will that be?" Elaria asked unable to keep the bark of impatience from her tone.

"Aww, sweet thing I know you'll miss me, but I'll be back in a day or so," she put a hand on her friends shoulder and embraced her. "Wait here for Zevran," she whispered so Rosa could not hear. Pulling her backwards she surveyed her with a stare. "Cheer up, Ellie. I'll have your stuff sent over," and with a wave of her hand at Rosa she was gone.

There was a silence between the two women for a while as Rosa looked her up and down.

"I know who you are, Warden," Elaria hardened herself to stop the surprise from showing.

"I don't know what you mean," her voice was calmer than she felt. _She must be able to hear my heart pounding._

"Don't worry your secret's safe with me," she chuckled. "Though I must say that you're exactly Zevran's type; beautiful and dangerous." Her eyes indicated the pommel of her dagger that disrupted the flow of her cloak about her hips. "I expected nothing less."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the Warden felt her secrets trying to surge out of her as her mind fought over whether this woman was trustworthy.

"Oh, of cause you don't child," Elaria decided she liked the glimmer in the old woman's eye."Be careful around Vita though, that girl had a quick mind and she can tell something's not right." Elaria began to protest but the woman held her hand. "Come, let me show you to your room."

The stairwell was a dark cramped affair, with doors littered up its three floors. Elaria could hear various sounds of morning floating through the thin walls as they climbed, heavy footsteps, children screaming and crying, two people were having a loud argument at the end of the second floor hallway. Madam Rosa ignored it all and Elaria did the same.

"How long has Zevran been away for?" She couldn't help the note of worry in her voice.

"Oh, about two weeks now. I wouldn't fear child, Zevran is like the wind, unpredictable and unexpected. I wouldn't wait for him if I were you, though of course I welcome your custom." She stopped at the end of a hallway on the third floor. "Here we are," she smiled, taking a key out of the folds of her long black dress. "Now before I give you this I must ask how you intend to pay for your keep."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, most of my female lodgers prefer to pay their way on their backs, as it were." Elaria raised an eyebrow at that. "No? Then gold would be fine. Ten silvers a week includes your bed and food, if you can cook then you'll cook, if I'm short a barmaid and you're here, you work. Agreed?" Elaria nodded and took the key from the madam's warm hands. "I will get one of the girls to bring you up some vinegar water to help you clean in there; I assure you it's not going to be pleasant." She gave Elaria a warm grin as she turned to descend the stairs, her hands trailing along the dusty banisters in the dark. Elaria felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension as she put the rusty key in the lock and turned.


	14. Chapter 14

For the longest time there was nothing but whiteness. Occasionally a soft murmur in the distance would make him want to cry out, but when he tried there was a horrible tearing feeling and a word to go with it, _pain._ Darkness began to creep in round the edges, like plumes of dancing smoke. He thought he opened his eyes but the blackness just continued, he closed them again wishing the light would return with its blinding warmth.

His whole being jolted and shook, he felt as though the ground beneath him was moving. With every shudder came reverberations of fresh agony. Once or twice it stopped, during these times he felt as though he were freezing, until familiar warmth would embrace him and sleep would come. Too soon he was rudely woken from the depth of his dreams by the suffering movement.

He was either aflame or encased in ice, his fevered sweat freezing his or boiling his skin. Soft and gentle hands would help him take water in, sometimes he felt them smoothing his brow and he would turn into the safety of them, the pressure helping to relieve the ache in his head.

Abruptly the movement stopped. He was aware of being carried, lifted as though his weight were no more than a child. When he was set down the familiar clinical smell of ground elfroot lulled him into exhausted sleep.

Voices came and went but they seemed less distant and he was even able to pick out certain words, though making sense of them was difficult through the smog of fever and pain. Sometimes it seemed like there were a number of people around him, a great deal of arguing and discussion in which he heard his name more than once. More often he was left alone with his nightmares.

He was sure he heard a woman screaming, the sound was unnatural and desperate punctuated by a heavy thudding that sounded like blows. Such a howl he could not have imagined but when he tried to rise to help, his body would not respond. The cursing and wailing grew louder and he thought he recognised the screams, though who it belonged to would not formulate in his mind. An intense inferno engulfed his senses adding his own cry to the chorus, as the pleading and whimpering came to a crescendo around him. Then it all ended as it had begun, abruptly and with screams. The silence throbbed in his ears echoing round his empty skull like blows struck with a hammer. Forgetfulness took him.

"We can't stay here any longer."

"He's in no fit state to move yet, his fever's not broken."

"How long?"

"In truth I don't know, he's strong though, wait two more days and I'll know for sure."

"I'll be right outside when he wakes."

His dreams were filled with horrors. His feet seemed to fly from under him as a terror filled his breast that he had never felt before. Bony fingers clasped round his neck and he struggled to breathe, clawing chunks of his flesh away as he tried to force them from him. Blood filled his mouth and he could taste its thick iron. Her face would swim before him, not rotten like the last time but whole and fresh and beautiful. Anger twisted her bronzed features; eyes that had once spoken of love and glistened with justice now screamed with hatred and burned with vengeance, her raven locks stung like whips when they touched his boiling flesh.

_"The things that nourish us will destroy us, boy. Love is the worst of these. Remember this."_

* * *

When sanity returned it was to the sound of heavy raindrops on canvas. He was increasingly and vividly aware of every ache and suffering that he had endured. A thick clean smelling paste had been smeared on his cuts and wounds, a heavy wooden splint supported his entire left leg from ankle to hip, when he tried to it move his knee shrieked in pain.

"Don't move, stay calm," a soft voice he did not recognise spoke nearer than he'd expected. When he tried to open his eyes his vision was blurred and he couldn't quite make out the woman. A candle burnt between his make-shift bed and where she sat but even that light scalded his fragile eyes and he had to look away. "I'll go and wake your friends." She moved quickly out of the tent and Zevran was left alone with his torture. His eyes began to focus, but when he tried to sit up to take stock of his surroundings the agony was unbearable, he lay back down, closing his eyes wishing oblivion would take him again.

The flap of the tent opened, snapping his eyes awake to see the healer return with one very angry looking Kalliste followed swiftly by a drawn, but thankfully alive, Aldo.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" Kalliste spat, her white blonde hair was tangled about her in disarray adding force to her words as it swung about her. He lay back down amongst the furs; he was not in any state to fight.

"Kalliste please, Zevran almost died, give him some time, yes?" She gave Aldo a scathing look but quieted. "How are you feeling, friend?" Zevran tried to sigh but found that his throat was too dry. The breath tickled his throat and his lungs heaved in protest. As he coughed and spluttered a soft delicate hand held his head back and put cool soothing water to his lips.

"Thank you," he gasped at the elf, as she put the earthenware jug down. She smiled prettily up at him. He could see her properly now as she propped up some pillows behind him, her dark skin was patterned with an intricate tattoo that marked her as a healer.

"Where are we?" His voice sounded strange to him, _surely that croak could not be mine._

"We are three days from the city, in a Dalish encampment," Aldo answered, as they sat on the floor by the left hand side of his bed. "They agreed to help us rescue you, but things have turned a little...sour."

He looked between the two women as if searching for a signal as to how much he should tell the recovering man. When the healer shook her head, he sighed running his hands over his tired face.

"We should speak of this in the morning. It is just good to see you're alive. I'm sorry that we were not quick enough to save you so much torment."

"We would have been quicker if you'd have just trusted the Dalish," Kalliste growled behind him.

"Look where it has got us now," he shot back without even looking at her. This stilled her, but Zevran knew her temper never quieted easily. Her delicate features twisted, blonde eyebrows pinching together, but she bit her tongue and he was glad of the silence.

"How long was I..."

"Four days," replied the elven healer. "Though the wound to your knee is at least a week old and was corrupt long before you arrived here. The infection spread quickly, I thought at one point that we would need to amputate, but I managed to burn it out with boiled elfroot and poppy wine. You still need magical healing before you should put weight on it and certainly before you fight."

"If Larathius would just treat him..." Kalliste began but she was cut off with a shake from the healers head.

"He won't," she seemed sad, but Zevran was too tired to press the matter further.

"I think we should all get some rest. You especially Almelia," Aldo smiled at the elven girl sat to Zevran's right. "She's been at your side night and day since you've been here, Zev." The girl blushed at this and tried to stammer that it was nothing but Zevran cut her off.

"Thank you, Almelia was it?" she nodded but could not meet his eyes.

"Come on then," Aldo indicated to the two women and they both rose as far as they could, given the low ceiling of the cramped tent. Kalliste hung back after the other two had left.

"I'll be right outside if you need me. I'm glad you're alive, Zev," she whispered softly.

"As am I, my dear, as am I."

* * *

Sleep did not come easily that night, every sound from outside put him on edge as he shuddered at his weakness and ignorance of the situation. It was an hour before dawn when he gave up, he tried to prop himself up on the pillows behind him which seemed to take forever with his heavy limbs. Day had just broken when Almelia entered the tent and helped him with his struggle. He noticed that she was wearing light leather armour and had two daggers at her waist, as though she expected danger, but she smiled and did not speak as she went about her business. He watched her as she ground elfroot and lavender into a paste and helped as much as he could with unwrapping his bandages and removing the splint on his left leg. When the wound was finally exposed he recoiled at the smell of puss and rot, though the elven woman showed no such revulsion, prodding at certain parts of his knee to gauge his pain. When she offered him some leather to bite down on he took it, all too often had he seen men bite off their own tongues in pain.

She held him down with a strength he did not think her lithe frame could possess as she poured the boiling mixture of elfroot, wine and lavender onto his festering injury. Pain he had expected but this was something different, his body jerked against her restraining arm as a scream rent his lips. When she was done she smeared a green paste along the tear, which tingled as it numbed the ache, and reapplied clean bandages. She snapped the splint in half so his knee did not have as much support but he could move his hip.

Their peace was broken by shouting from outside the tent, as they spoke Elvish he could only understand some of the words but he certainly understood the tone. When another responded he was surprised to hear Kalliste's voice, speaking the language fluently and full of wrath. He tried to get up but Almelia stopped him, motioning for him to stay there whilst she investigated. Stuffing all her alchemical equipment and ingredients hurriedly into a leather backpack, she swung it over her shoulder as she left.

The argument continued for a long time and he began to feel frustrated with his crippled position of ignorance. Managing to sit up he painstakingly shifted his weight on his arms shuffling his way to a neatly folded fresh tunic that Almelia had laid out for him. It was a struggle to get it on, his arms did not seem to want to respond, weary with illness and pain, every time he moved his head swam and spun but finally he managed to pull the rough woollen shirt over his chest. The effort had been too much and as he collapsed heavily back down the searing spike of pain in his knee made him gasp out.

Aldo wrenched the tent flap open as the shouting outside grew in intensity, more voices than Kalliste and the man were added to the commotion and Zevran thought he heard steel being drawn.

"We must get out of here," Aldo panicked as he went to Zevran's side. "Can you walk?"

"Perhaps with help," the man wrapped his arm around the assassin's toned waist and struggled with his weight as they stooped. He helped Zevran with the rest of his clothing and even armed him with a small dagger.

"Things may get desperate, Zevran."

"What's going on Aldo?"

"Later."

The two men shifted awkwardly through the small flap of the tent, arms wrapped round each other in support. The splint on Zevran's leg meant that he could not bend his knee and he had to hop along beside the man who supported him like a crutch.

A semicircle of elves had formed around the captain of _The Antivan Whore_, all of which were dressed in the same black armour that he recognised though couldn't place. The Dalish were littered among these elves, and as Aldo and Zevran staggered towards them they turned as one, their faces tensed in anger. The sudden silence made the atmosphere thick with apprehension, he could only hear his and Aldo's squelching footsteps as the trundled towards the group. The elf leading the mob was dressed in the same black armour as the rest, but his cloak was made of dense black fur where his subordinates wore shabby cotton. A golden broach was pinned to his breast adorned with rubies, as Zevran hobbled closer he saw it was the shape of a cat. He moved like a shadow towards the two vulnerable men but Kalliste was quicker and planted herself firmly between them and him.

She had two swords in her hands as she stared down the seven elves. Zevran was as sure of her abilities as one could be but basic arithmetic favoured the Cats, though they themselves had not seen fit to draw. Almelia ran to them, pulling apart the two elves, shouting in frantic Elvish at the both of them; he could tell that she was pleading for peace.

His tent had been on the very edge of the Dalish encampment and as the two of them traversed the muddy leaf strewn grounds slowly on unsteady feet, Kalliste moved with them, stopping the approaching elves with curses and swipes with her swords. When they came to the dirt track that lead out of the camp, a horse drawn wagon waited for them. They had their backs to the elves as Aldo helped Zevran into the back of the overstuffed carriage. Pain and confusion misted over his mind but he was sharply aware when he heard further blades drawn. His vision began to blur and he grabbed Aldo's shoulder to stop himself falling.

"What is the meaning of this? Kalliste, Turiin, sheath your blades at once," the authoritative tone split the air as an aged elf who could only be the clans Keeper entered the clearing.

"Our Lady has named these ones traitors, Larathius. You would do well not to aid the _seth'lin_ any further," spat the fur trimmed leader, though he sheathed his blades.

"We have promised them safe passage; you were there when the agreement was made, Turiin. Now come, let them leave in peace."

The elf growled but moved back towards the encampment with the Keeper. The crowd turned to shuffle away behind them but before Larathius could leave Almelia called him back. They spoke in anxious whispers for a time, the girl occasionally glancing over her shoulder to where the three companions now stood. All of the other elves had waited for their leader and could hear the conversation, looking furiously at the healer. They seemed to reach some sort of agreement however as the Keeper placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder and nodded, though his eyes were sombre. When the crowd turned to leave the four of them were left alone with the small canvas covered cart and bedraggled looking horse.

"I'm coming with you," Almelia explained simply, as she vaulted herself into the wagon next to Zevran. The others merely nodded as though they understood, as Kalliste climbed behind the reins and Aldo took the seat next to her.

"Will one of you explain what's going on, please?" Zevran moaned as Almelia cleared a space among the goods for him to lie. He put his back against the wooden jockey box where Kalliste and Aldo sat, stretching his wounded leg as straight as he could stand.

"Some of the Dalish who helped us free you have gone over to the cat lady," Kalliste hissed as she drove the horse forwards, rattling and creaking the old wagon. "We thought they'd fallen during the battle but they turned up a day behind us, begging Larathius to let them take you back."

"Why?"

"They wouldn't tell us, but whatever it is was enough to make the Keeper start to resent our presence."

"You think he wants to join with her?"

"I do," it was Almelia who answered. "Whatever it is she's offering them it must be huge, I didn't think Turiin would ever want to leave the Dalish."

"They didn't tell you?"

She shook her head, as ever, unable to meet his eyes. "I saw what she did to you first hand, whatever she is, I know that her magic is... unnatural. When I tried to tell them that she was more dangerous than they thought they..._laughed_ at me," the hurt was evidently written on her features.

Further questions burned in Zevran's minds but his body would not allow him the frivolity of curiosity. He had begun to get used to the pain in his leg, and the way the rattling of the cart brought fresh pangs with it and soon the swaying motion lulled him into dozing.

The sun rose above the large river side canopy of trees, though the dark clouds of rain made the heat muggy and unbearable. Occasionally the wagon would lurch to one side or another pulling him out of his reverie momentarily. He slept only lightly but dreamt vividly. And when he awoke he remembered nothing of these dreams but the bright colourful swirls they left behind.

Noon had long passed when Zevran was shaken from his rest by an unearthly scream. The dagger Aldo had given him was in his hands before the mists of sleep were properly dispersed. Kalliste slowed the wagon to a trot and Aldo notched an arrow into his bow, expertly training its tip as the carriage lurched around the bend. Zevran's line of site was obscured and he could not stand to see over the drivers as Almelia was doing. When they staggered to a stop the shrieking had become unbearable, accentuated with the deeper cries of men. As Aldo and Kalliste descended he saw why there was such a racket.

When their slow old mare caught the scent of blood she tried to buck away and Almelia had to grab the reins to stop her bolting. She passed him the leather straps as she went to the ground herself and he had to contort his already aching body to be able to steady the wagon, wrenching new pain from his tired muscles. Across the road a horse had fallen, arrows fletched with raven feathers protruded, the head buried deeply along its hindquarters and rear legs. The rider was underneath the beast, being slowly crushed by the desperately braying animal. Three other men were urgently trying to move the hefty stallion to no avail and when Kalliste and Aldo joined them they had no better luck. So appallingly transfixing was the sight and sounds that it was a while before Zevran realised that he knew these men. Ilum Stray's gargantuan form heaved at the hindquarters of the beast, his muscles bulging with the effort. His heavy armour was pierced with several arrows of the same type that felled the horse, but either they did not hit his flesh or he could not yet feel the pain. Strewn on the ground around them, like so many broken dolls, were the mangled corpses of three or four elves, from the debris of brush around them they had been dragged out of the bushes and put to the sword. The only feature that remained unmolested by Kalliste's crew was the dark black armour of the Cats covering severed limbs and heads.

Kalliste took charge quickly, knowing that they had to move the terrified beast off the man before his lungs were completely trampled. She and the three uninjured men tried desperately to shift the dead weight of the horse as it kicked and shrieked but it was no use. During one attempt the terrified animal's rear hoof lashed out and found the head of the injured man. The blow was so forceful that Zevran knew the man could not survive, and sure enough he slumped as pieces of his skull broke through his scalp, gushing gore onto the leaf strewn ground.

Kalliste swore as she pulled the great head of the stallion back, roaring as she crossed her blade across its throat. The shrieks died suddenly leaving the road strangely quiet other than the Captains heaving pants, and the other horse's worried snorts at the smell of blood. Kalliste sheathed her sword, disgust written palpably across her features as she wiped the gore from her face.

"What happened here?" She addressed the question to a sailor whose name he didn't know but face he recognised, as Almelia went between the men, checking their wounds.

"We were ambushed, Captain," the man grunted as the healer inspected his right arm that he tried to hold to his chest. "You'd been gone so long we thought it best to send out a search party, these bastards took Fion's horse from behind, shot Ilyum before we could get to them."

"We'd better get moving, there's more where they came from," Kalliste said darkly moving towards the wagon and taking the reins from Zevran.

"What about Fion?" the man looked sorrowfully at his friend's corpse almost unrecognisable smeared with his own blood and that of the dead horse still on top of him.

"If you want to join him by all means stay," the words had a cold edge to them and he was soon scrambling onto the wagon next to Zevran as Aldo mounted the man's uninjured horse.

Kalliste lead the burdened mare around the gore of the road and whispered soothingly to the animal as the beast snorted nervously. The others flanked their captain wordlessly as she climbed back into the driving seat.

The pace they kept was painstakingly slow and the atmosphere was deadened with apprehension, no-one dared break the silence, not even a whisper passed among the men. Zevran was too tense to go back into his doze, imagining every whiny of the horse, every groan of the wagon would bring new enemies upon the exhausted band.

The sun was setting before the sails of _The Antivan Whore _came into view. Shouts and cheers went up from the deck as they saw the Captain emerge from the bracken in the half light, but the riders were all to weary to respond in kind. Two sailors came to help Zevran out of the wagon and a stretcher of wood was sent down to pull him up on deck. Kalliste was the last to ascend, after freeing the horses from their saddles and reins. As she stepped over the deck her crew gathered around her, each of them glad to see their leader alive. She shrugged off hands that patted her on the back, making her way through the crowd to where Zevran lay.

"Take him to my room," he was about to object but she raised her hand. "You need to rest Zevran." Her mouth twitched as it always did when she was expecting an argument, her steely eyes exaggerated by the blood that still coating her face. He did not have the strength to argue.

"We'll talk later," she said quietly to him as Aldo and Almelia helped him to stand.

"Alright you scurvy bastards raise the anchor," She shouted as she addressed the crew. "Back to Antiva City."

* * *

They were well on the way and night had set in before Kalliste came exhaustedly into the cabin. Almelia had long fallen asleep curled up on a pile of cushions at the foot of the bed, but rest would not take Zevran as easily. He sat propped up with pillows on the luxurious feather bed, a single candle burning next to him. When Kalliste undressed to her smallclothes and slid under the sheets he shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't worry Zev," she yawned. "I'm too tired to rape you." He sighed, it felt strange to be so discomforted by the presence of a beautiful woman, but the thought of intimacy brought a gnawing queasiness to his stomach and the shiny wound left by Rinna's skeletal hand seemed to burn anew.

There was silence between the two of them for a long time though neither of them slept. The ship had been anchored and they swayed slightly with the tide.

"Zev?" Kalliste whispered so he could barely hear, the candle was guttering now and shadows and lights danced across the wooden ceiling and floor.

"Yes," he croaked, his voice was hoarse from disuse. She still lay in the bed facing him and he could feel her gaze on him though he did not meet her eyes.

"Aldo...he said that the cat lady...that she's," the emotion in her gasps was unexpected and when he turned to face her he realised she was crying. Her vulnerability confused him, so used was he to her harsh tones and cold words. He tried to move to comfort her by the pain was too much, he settled for stroking the loose strands of her white gold hair.

"What did he say?" Her eyes suddenly met his and the horror that was in them struck the stony walls of his heart.

"That she's Rinna," she gasped the words quickly as though if she didn't they would never come out. He hesitated, his hand hovering over her head as he tried to gather his response. Worries and fears that Elaria had once managed to bury deep within him resurfaced, clasping their strong hands around his guts. Years of Crow training had forced him not to love, to encase his feelings deep inside. _"The things that nourish us will destroy us, boy. Love is the worst of these. Remember this." _Every time he had erred this truth they had subjected him to for years came back to him, each experience more destructive to his hope than the last one.

"He's right, it's her," she forced her hand into her mouth to stop herself from crying out. Her whole body shook with emotion as she pulled the sheets off of her and swung her body out of bed, facing away from him. When he tried to touch her shoulder she twitched away.

"How?" she whispered through her tears. "How is such a thing possible?" Her voice was muffled as she put her head in her hands. The same question had plagued Zevran during his time with the Lady of Cats but no answer had come to him.

"I don't know," he answered lamely.

"The cat lady is just a myth, isn't it Zev?" She spun her head over her shoulder, there was a desperation in her red rimmed eyes.

"I always thought so," he replied softly taking a deep breath. "She often spoke of how...how her body remembered things." He could not help but shudder at the thought. _This body remembers the sweet things you whispered._ He tried to brush the thought away but it resounded and echoed in her eerie haunting voice. The cabin grew suddenly cold and he had to resist the urge to pull the sheets around him. "Perhaps she remembers being told the story and repurposed the myth for her own uses."

"Is it really _her_ Zev?" She turned her body to face him, drawing her legs up to her chest and resting her head on her knees.

"Her corpse, Kalliste, Rinna is dead." He took another exasperated breath; any tiredness he had felt had fled at the terror creeping slowly into him. Running his hands over his forehead he gasped when his fingers brushed against the scar there. "The way she speaks, the way she moves it's like some sort of demon but I've never heard of an abomination inhabiting any body other than a mage's." He frowned, wracking his brains, but so much had happened in the past few days that the rest of his life, everything he had learned and experienced seemed like a strange dream that had happened to somebody else. "I don't know, Kalliste, this is all useless speculation."

"Do you think we could find someone who would know?"

"In Antiva City, you can find anything."


	15. Chapter 15

**_AN: Sorry it's been so long since updates, rest assured I am more gripped than ever by this story and will make up for my short siesta with many chapters this week. Thanks to everyone who has favourited and reviewed Severed, keep 'em coming, your kind words are what keeps me going._**

* * *

_Elaria, Anitva City_

People rarely slept at night in The Pits. Elaria had learnt this the hard way, tossing and turning her exhausted body on the itchy straw stuffed mattress. The sounds of intimacy echoed all around her which awoke both pleasurable and dark memories that her mind would not leave alone. When she twisted a certain way she was sure she could _smell_ Zevran on the pillow, only adding to her frustration and confusion. Dawn was shining; the thin red curtains that Elaria had procured cast the room in its hues, before her head joined her body in utter exhaustion.

The room was hot and sticky when Elaria awoke, disorientated, to the sounds of running footsteps in the hall. It took a while for her to catch her bearings, her mind still blinkered with lack of sleep. Sitting up she grabbed the earthenware jug of water, it too had suffered from the heat, but she did not care about the musty taste as it soothed her crackled throat. The heady smell of vinegar and lemons, that she had used to scrub the filthy room, stifled her as she opened the curtains and the rickety sash window. Hanging her head out to catch her breath she saw for the first time the scrubland that the back room faced. Brambles and thistles had long reclaimed the land, though from this height Elaria could see where the weeds climbed over partitioning walls and out buildings, abandoned to the onslaught. The backs of several shops and houses formed a circle around the wasteland, their lopsided rickety structures did little to shade the area from the noontime sun as it beat down. The heat of the winter had been a surprise to the Ferelden mage who was used to these months being long and frozen, full of endless rain and roaring fires.

She was broken from her reverie by the return of the running footsteps, pounding up the stairs like a heard of tiny elephants. Several childish voices were shouting at the top of their lungs that breakfast was ready. She heard them ascend to the top flight that she was on, then gales of giggles as they pushed back down the stairs. After closing and locking the window she washed, donning the light armour Alistair had given her, armed herself with two daggers and left the small bare room.

She was almost bowled over in the cramped hallway by a portly man leaving the room next to hers.

"Oh Maker, I am sorry," He gasped, grabbing Elaria's arm to steady her.

"No problem," she said shaking off his clammy fingers.

"Zachariah Marmeldov, a writer for _El Pais_, at your service," he gave a swooping bow, taking off an ill fitting tyrolean hat, protruding from which were gaudily dyed feathers. As he stood straight again she saw him properly for the first time. Layers of fat and years had helped to destroy a face that had probably once been quite handsome. Large grey eyes twinkled, deep set into bronzed skin that stretched over his bulbous balding head. A long straight nose was riddled with the deep red mars of alcohol abuse. The burgundy robe he wore extenuated his protruding stomach, which made his legs seem shortened by the lowness of its hang.

"Elowyn Tabris," she extended her hand and he took it in his ink stained one, in a strong firm shake.

"Ah a Ferelden!" he exclaimed as they began to move towards the stairs. "Were you much involved in the Blight out there? You seem like someone who could handle themselves." He walked in front of her as they descended into the dark windowless stairwell.

"I wasn't in Ferelden at the time," she lied forcing a note of shame into her voice.

"A pity, I've been looking for someone to give me a true account of the Blight. One hears so many rumours that one can never be sure." The rancid smell of burning porridge rose up to greet them as they reached the second floor.

"Ah Carmen, a wonderful woman but a terrible cook," he turned to her wrinkling his nose. "If you want to get fed well my friend, I suggest you look for sustenance elsewhere." His podgy hand returned to the banister as he heaved his considerable weight down the last flight of stairs. By the time they were in the common room below he was out of breath.

The long low ceilinged room was a bustle of activity. The mismatched tables and chairs had all been pulled together around which were sat the twenty or so occupants of the whorehouse. Guests and whores, mothers and children, bodyguards and swaddling babes all were too busy with their own problems of morning to notice Elaria and Zachariah enter. Madam Rosa sat at the head of the table surrounded on both sides by her extensive family. Children of all ages sat on laps or chairs, or ran around the table chasing one another, their shouts and cries making up most of the racket. A babe no older than two sat on an aggravated woman's lap screaming at the top of his young lungs for honey. The tables were strewn with discarded cutlery and half finished porridge as Elaria tried to see Anders among the chaos. Not spotting him she pulled up a chair in between Vita and Gina, the woman with the demanding child.

"Morning Elowyn," the whore grinned at her.

"Surely it's afternoon?"

"Not in the Pits," Vita laughed. "The sun takes longer to get here."

Elaria grabbed a bowl and scooped a lump of stodgy cold porridge from the large vat in front of her. When she tasted it she almost wanted to join the child's wails for honey. Vita giggled at the look of disgust that the Warden couldn't hide.

"I wouldn't eat anything Carmen cooks if I were you," Vita whispered out of earshot from the woman who sat opposite them, though she needn't had bothered, Carmen was fully occupied attempting to resolve an argument between two of the grubby faced sexless children who had been chasing one another about the room.

"Have you seen Anders?" She asked, pushing the porridge away, not even her unnatural appetite would allow her to stomach the cold, lumpy goo.

"He went out before breakfast," Vita had not even bothered with the porridge and instead broke her fast with watered wine, which she swirled in the glass around her. "He left you a note." She reached into the folds of her simple morning dress and handed her a folded piece of parchment.

_Gone out for supplies, be back soon. Wait there for me, Anders,_ the note read simply in the mages familiar scrawl.

By the time Carmen rose to clear the debris, Rosa had ushered the army of children out onto the streets and the majority of the guests had departed, other than Zachariah who was already drunkenly talking to one of the girls about a long dead Antivan poet, reciting lines of his love poetry to the uninterested whore. Elaria helped Vita to load piles of dirty bowls and crockery into her arms, carrying them warily into the kitchen. Vita joined a small group of whores and Elaria listened to their inane chatter as she dried the bowls that Carmen washed in a large bucket of lukewarm water. A large open fire took up the entirety of the left wall, leaving the room swelteringly hot. When Rosa entered the kitchen she quickly dispersed the women to their rooms to get ready for any early custom.

Elaria was at loss for what to do after the common room was shifted back to its normal arrangement. Most of the guests had gone back to their rooms or into the city as the inhabitants of the building rushed to get everything ready. She spied an old cobweb covered piano in a shaded corner of the common room but when she began to play a few chords she realised it was horribly out of tune. Propping open the lid she began attempting to adjust the tuning pegs to a less discordant tone. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't notice when Anders rushed into the room an hour later.

"Ellie," he whispered tapping her shoulder with his free hand, the other bundled several brown paper bags to his chest. When she turned to him he had a worried look in his eye. "I think I was followed."

Sure enough a heartbeat later a rough looking man in steel armour came through the door looking breathless. Days of stubble covered his leathery skin, eyes as black as coals twinkled over them both. Elaria pushed back the piano stool she'd been sat on and armed herself quickly with both daggers, feeling the Veil tear as Anders readied a spell. The man did not arm himself with the shield and longsword on his back, however, so she held her first blow.

"Who are you? Answer quickly or die," she whispered with venom at the stranger.

"I am a friend, Wardens," he replied in the same quiet tone, putting his hands up in the air. "I come in peace." She glowered at the man, not immediately trusting him.

"How do you know who we are?" she said trying to keep her tone calm.

"I sensed your taint. I am also a Grey Warden." Elaria had been too preoccupied to notice the familiar tugging of a tainted presence, single Wardens were very difficult to sense especially when one wasn't searching.

"Why did you follow him?" She nodded at Anders, vaguely aware of the mages discomfort at her not translating, she knew as soon as she did that the man would know, not just that she was _a_ Warden, but that she was _the_ Warden.

"I thought he might be someone else," the man sighed unhappily. "But... you're a Warden, yes? Perhaps you could help?"

Elaria eyed the man warily but sheathed both her blades. Anders followed suit, dismissing the paralysis spell he had summoned.

"Wait here," she indicated a seat and the Grey Warden hurried to take it. Curious faces peaked out from the kitchen as she dragged Anders behind her. Gina del Tora, Rosa's youngest daughter, hurried to offer the man a drink and some company.

"What does he want?" Anders whispered to her, putting his goods down on the work surface.

"He says he thought you were someone else. Then he asked for our help. He's a Grey Warden, Anders." This made his eyebrows rise.

"Does he know who you are?" his voice went even quieter at this.

"I don't think so."

"Are you going to tell him?" She bit her lip, not wanting to trust this stranger but seeing very few ways out of it.

"Just stay here, I'll talk to him. Maybe it won't even come to that."

She sidled back into the adjoining room where the Grey Warden was nursing a glass of water. Gina stood behind the bar eyeing them both nervously, wary that the man might cause trouble. He stood as she went to sit down, his palms sweating, clenched in front of him. When they both took their seats she sat opposite him surveying the anxious warrior closely. His eyes darted around, looking everywhere but at her, his leg shook, jingling his plate.

"You seem nervous, friend," she whispered cocking her head to one side.

"If my superior finds out I told anyone about this he won't be happy," his voice was barely audible and he still could not meet her eyes.

"Why don't you tell me what's going on? From the beginning."

"How do I know you won't tell him?" She could see real panic in continence now and she gently cupped his shaking hand in her own in an attempt to soothe his fears.

"You'll have to trust me. First tell me your name."

"Hector, Hector Elstrado."

"Well you can call me Elowyn, Hector," she smiled. "Now tell me what's been going on." She had always had a persuasive way with people, a skill she had learnt in the Tower, where charisma and charm gave her allowances and freedoms that her fellow mages only dreamt of. Hectors nerves seemed to pull together at her comforting yet authoritative tone.

"It seems like forever since she's been gone," his calloused hands ran through his thinning hair. "We survived our joining together...so many years ago." Hector's expression was one of pain when he met her eyes. "You know how deep a bond that is, don't you Warden?"

"None but me survived my joining, but I know how profound those ties are, please go on."

"It was not long before I loved her," he seemed further pained by the confession. "She was so strong and beautiful yet so small and fragile. I felt that she needed protecting and I tried but..." her fellow Warden was close to tears now as he choked back his sobs. "It must've been three months and no-one's seen her. My commander insists that she deserted or felt her Calling and left one night, he refuses to search for her." He grabbed her arm suddenly, wild desperation in his coal black eyes. "She would never leave without telling me and since then, there have been others."

"Others?" she questioned trying to resist pulling away from his uncomfortably strong grasp.

"Other Wardens, all mages, disappearing," his hands tightened as he spoke. "The Commander has forbidden us to speak of it even amongst ourselves."

"Do you think he has something to do with this?" He nodded solemnly, releasing her arm as quickly as he'd grabbed it.

"I don't even know who you are, but I'm so desperate now that I don't care. Please say you'll help?" Elaria had never been able to stand for long the pleading expression of someone in dire need and time had done little to change this facet of her nature.

"I will do my best," she answered giving Hector a small smile. "How many mages are missing to date?"

"Three, including Talawyn."

"Human or Elves?"

"Talawyn's elven Dalathor and Ilia are human."Before she could ask further questions three sailors from _The Siren's Call_ burst in noisily, staggering to the bar and loudly ordering drinks and women. Luckily they didn't notice Elaria, so intent were they on their mission. Hector rose to leave and she went quietly with him as he moved towards the front entrance of the brothel.

"Come back in a week and I'll see what I can find," she said, shaking his hand before he left. She stood on the porch watching him weave between the newly woken denizens of the Pits, trying to put together a puzzle that she was sure she did not have all the pieces for.

* * *

"But who would want Warden Mages?"

They had retired to the privacy of Anders room. When they entered she had felt unreasonable pangs of jealousy. His ground floor room was much larger than Zevran's pokey attic bedroom and was well furnished, with a desk and a day sofa. Two large sash windows, curtained with heavy purple velvet, flooded the fading light into the room. Even a bookcase stood in the corner which the mage had been quick to fill with his collection of tomes. He sat on the edge of a bed which could easily occupy four, and probably had.

She paced the wooden floor which creaked in complaint about the force of her stride. When she reached one end of the room she turned quickly on one foot and began retracing her steps.

"Could you stop that? It's making me dizzy watching you." Elaria halted, hands on her hips glowering at him. "Or not," he sighed as she continued.

"The Crows have got something to do with this; I can feel it in my gut." Anders sighed at her words and lay down heavily on the bed behind him.

"Of cause you'd see the Crows in this; they're your enemy. It could just as easily be corruption in the Chantry or even Tevinter Slavers," he argued and she could not help but see the wisdom in his words. Exhaling heavily she pulled the wooden chair out from under the desk and plonked herself down into it. Anders had brought freshly baked bread from town and she cut herself a thick slice and spreading the thick creamy goat's cheese that Antivans favoured on it. They both remained silent with their thoughts for a while, as she chewed, neither wanting to disturb the other in their shared solitude. Elaria finally gave up on her ponderings, knowing that very little could become of the speculation, not knowing where to even begin with such a challenge.

"What were you doing in town this morning?" She asked, trying to keep the tone light, truthfully she'd been worried by his trip and late return, knowing how cheaply certain Antivan's valued life, especially the lives of unknown foreigners.

"I went to assess how bad the poverty is here and whether it has a source," he sat up abruptly.

"And...?" she began but Anders had obviously been waiting to talk about this for a while and he sprung to his feet. She had to strain not to laugh at the irony of his pacing.

"Do you know the major contributing factor to Antivan poverty?"

"Surely it's the same as everywhere," she leaned back in her chair. "The ones lucky enough to get jobs are underpaid and overworked. Lack of coin means no food, no clean water, no place to sleep all resulting in serious health problems or malnourishment, making them unfit to work and thus completing the horrible cycle."

"All of those, of course, are present but it's different here. Overpopulation is the key problem. Do you know why?" He turned to her then and she could see he was bursting share his newly found knowledge.

"Well Antivans do like sex..."

"And the Chantry have outlawed moon tea." This came as a shock to Elaria who knew very well the benefits of the contraceptive drink, one that she had assumed would be embedded in this culture so ripe was it with sexual intent. "Apparently they have banned the sale of the tea, but not the cultivation of the constituent herbs." Anders eyes glimmered as he grinned, sitting back down on the bed. "We could grow siliphius and seldomvine in this climate easily, if we can flood the city with the tea, the Chantry will have to loosen their hold." Their eyes met and Elaria could see the excitement there, born of the healers urge to do nothing but good for these people.

"You found all this out in one morning?"

"I went to see an herbalist and she spoke a spattering of the Kings Tongue," he explained off handily.

"And the wrath of the Chantry?"

"Screw the Chantry, Elaria. This is what's right," his voice was thick with emotion and she knew that when his jaw set in the way it did now that there was little point in trying to discourage him.

"Alright, Anders, what do you need me to do?"

* * *

So it was that Elaria found herself in the last glimmer of Antivan light examining the disused land at the back of _The Nymph's Song _with Anders and Madam Rosa. Sounds of reverie floated out from the rear door of the whorehouse, many of Isabela's crew were in tonight and Anerein's husky voice sang over the rumbles of laughter and sound of dancing feet. From this low the bracken extended up to Elaria's chest, except for a path that had been trodden down quiet recently, she followed it round to the side of the building. Amongst the beat down brambles she spied a scrap of black fabric that had been torn off by the thorns. Turning it over in her hands she realised the cloth was dusted with a thin layer of white grit that could only have come from climbing the wall at the end of the path that separated the back garden from the street. When she reached the whitewashed barrier muddy footprints were smeared over the wall and when she hovered her boot over them she found them to be slightly larger than her own. Inexplicably she put the fabric in her pocket as she traipsed back down the path back onto the half rotten decking where Anders and Rosa stood.

"It is such a waste, is it not?" Rosa said in her broken Kings Tongue. "I remember when my Aunty owned this place, she was such an avid gardener. Now look, all her hard work destroyed by a decade of negligence." She shook her head in despair. "What is it that you two wanted to know?"

"Who actually owns this land?" Anders wasted no time getting directly to the point.

"As far as I am aware up to that wall," she pointed towards a large vertical protrusion that the brambles had climbed over, "I am the owner of. The rest is broken up between the other houses."

Anders seemed to be counting in his head as he wrote something down in his leather bound journal. The tip of his quill he was using to estimate the amount of land available and it drifted in the air momentarily before going back to his scribbling. Elaria knew that this small patch would not yield enough of the herbs that he desired and sure enough his brow knit together as his sums did not add up.

"Do you think that they'd be willing to part with it?"

"Some of them, certainly, for the right fee," Rosa grinned at her two guests, her small eyes burning with curiosity. "What exactly do you want it for?"

"The prices for ingredients are over inflated, there is too much travelling between the farms in the Dales and the city. We intend to flood the market with cheaper locally grown produce and make a tidy profit in doing so," Elaria answered before Anders revealed the specifics of their plans. Rosa looked at them thoughtfully for a moment.

"So you wish to buy my land from me?" The woman folded her arms over her chest, a steely look crossing her features and the two mages looked at each other, expecting the woman to drive them a hard price.

"If you're willing to sell," Anders gave her a charming smile but this did not seem to break the Madam's firm countenance.

"Perhaps I am not," her thin line of a mouth gave a smirk at his crestfallen look. "I am however willing to allow you to do what you will with the land." The return of hope to the healers face would have been comical if she hadn't known how much this meant to him. "Two rules however, I want a pretty lawn with some flower beds..."

"Done," Anders grinned putting out his hand pre-emptively.

"And also I want a third of your profit," his hand fell down to his side again as he examined the woman's face closely.

"A quarter," he threw back and she shook her head.

"A third or no deal," Rosa's thin line of a mouth pursed to the point of disappearing, her eyes met Anders unblinkingly. Elaria knew that he would break eventually; he had a certain weak spot for strong minded women. His eyes were the first to sever the stare.

"Fine," he said offering his hand again. She shook it firmly, grinning as she did so. "Do you think the others will sell?"

"Now that I'm your partner," Rosa smiled. "They wouldn't dare say no."

* * *

_I'm getting much better at this game_, she thought sliding Anerin's twenty silvers over to her side of the table. The bard gave a low sigh in the face of his defeat, taking a long pull on the bottle of Brandy between them. Dawn was fast approaching but the small tournament of Wicked Grace that _The Siren's Call_ crew had set up had kept her mind from tiredness. Most of the guests and whores had long gone to bed, other than the small group who'd stayed to watch the last match. Azura, Rosa's eldest daughter, snored softly behind the bar with Elmo, her son, fast asleep on her lap. Fabio pulled the cards to him and began expertly shuffling before dealing. The tension in the air was thick, Anerin currently held the esteemed title of being the only one of the crew to be able to beat their Captain at the game of skill and here he was on the cusp of defeat. Before the third and final round of their match could begin however there came a loud banging at the locked front door.

Elaria was on her feet both daggers in her hand when the door broke off its hinges. Splinters of wood and shards of rusted iron broke across the table of shocked sailors as they struggled to their feet, half drunk with shock. Azura and Elmo both startled awake with screams on their lips as several armed and armoured men and women burst through the now empty framework. Swords glinted in the candle light as the sailors and Elaria rushed their unexpected opponents.

The alcohol coursing through her made the fight more difficult, every block and blow was a struggle to strike, her feet were heavy lead beneath her. Instinct took over as her mind blurred, finding weak points in the black armour of her foes, twirling to obstruct blows from behind. Waves of healing started to pour over her and she knew Anders was somewhere in the fray. The helmets of their enemies covered their faces, making their deaths easier to bear. Wooden floors were slick with blood as her curved dagger found the throat of her third opponent, the stab had overextended her footwork and she slid to the ground. Feet crushed her arm with a crack that she knew was a break; she dropped her dagger with a scream of pain. The bar was full of fighters now and more kept coming through the frame of the door. As she tried to drag herself backwards, she saw that their foes had broken the sailor's line and were running up the stairs. Her left arm hung useless by her side but when she tried to see Anders in the gloom the healers face was nowhere to be found. Bodies were littering the floor around her but she could make out no faces in the faint half light, when she tried to raise her body it shrieked in agony and her eyes swam with exhaustion. Before she could manage to sit up a shadow came out of the battle and slammed into her body. Limbs tangled around her fragile form and she desperately stabbed with her remaining dagger but found no flesh. Hands stronger than she could fight finally found her throat and fiercely began to crush the breath out of her. Frantically she slashed at them with her dagger, when blood poured from the cuts and over her skin she found hope rising in her and somehow it gave her renewed strength. Aching legs kicked out at her enemy, her heavy boots cracking leather armour. Her unbroken hand thrust the dagger straight through the greave, bone and flesh of the hand around her throat, so deeply that it pierced the point through her own skin. Suddenly she was free. The gasp she took steadied her and she saw the man who attacked her grasping at the gore pouring from his palm. It was over in one blow, her dagger turned red as it drank his jugular blood. This last effort drove all the fight from her but before the blackness could consume her hands pulled her to her feet, familiar eyes met hers before she lapsed into unconsciousness.


	16. Chapter 16

_Zevran, Antiva City_

It was a late afternoon, the fresh stream of the Sesia lapped into the salt waters of Rialto Bay as _The Antivan Whore _groaned and creaked in the breeze. The landscape had slowly turned from uninhabited virgin woodland to the sandstone and wooden structures of the small holdings outside the city, to the vibrant metropolis itself. Zevran could see the whole of the sprawling city as it wound its way over the slopes. The roads that severed it into the various districts, the solid granite line of The Crow Wall that separated the assassin's quarters from the rest of the city and gleaming glass bulbous roofs of the royal palace that shimmered colourful reflections in the calm waters. The sailors were pulling down the small white sails, as they rocked around other river boats that had made harbour in the sheltered banks of the Sesia.

The journey back had been unhindered, though Zevran felt like this was the calm before the storm. Most of his superficial wounds had healed, though his leg would stand no weight and the burn from Rinna's skeletal handprint had deformed the skin above his heart with grotesque silvery scar tissue. He had told Kalliste and Aldo of all that had happened with Rinna in a cold and practical tone, distancing his emotions as much as he could from the terrifying reality. Kalliste had expressed the whirlwind that he repressed; first disbelief, then anger and eventually a deep well of sorrow and grief. Aldo had just stared blankly, his own feelings hidden behind a mask he had mastered long ago. The three had talked endlessly of possibilities, of strategy, but Zevran soon grew weary of the speculation, wishing to grab at something solid in the tangle of 'ifs' and 'maybes.'

As the stench of Antiva reached Zevran on the wind the assassin breathed in deeply. _What surprises do you have in store for me, my home?_ he thought, as the stone walls of the harbour encircled the ship. He grabbed for his makeshift crutch as the boat lurched to a stop, heaving himself up as the sailors dropped the anchor. The air was solemn and tense as Ilum Stray distributed payment to the men as they climbed silently over other ships to reach the harbour walls. Zevran hobbled over to Kalliste who was surveying the other vessels in the harbour.

"Do you recognise that ship?" she pointed to a large carrack in the distance on the end of a line of similarly sized crafts. Squinting against the sunset he could just make out the distinctive figurehead on the bow of the ship, a woman beckoning towards some unseen intention.

"Isabela?" he whispered, almost not believing his eyes. Kalliste grinned up at him.

"Yes," she smiled. "Let's go."

Kalliste motioned for their remaining companions to stay onboard as she helped Zevran over the decks and onto the dirt path. She was obviously excited and relieved at the presence of _The Siren's Call_ and he had to struggle to keep up with her frantic steps. The low light glistened across the multicoloured buildings casting them the deep orange of sunset and creating long shadows that played across the bobbing waters of the harbour. Zevran could not help but catch some of Kalliste's infectious anticipation as he struggled to catch glimpses of platinum hair amidst the crush of the crowd. He managed to catch sight of her, waiting at the front of a bustling group of people for the bridge to descend across the docks for the night. Everywhere around them fires were being lit to ward off the oncoming darkness and rising coastal wind. Above them stars began to glint as the moon began its nightly dance across the Antivan sky. The atmosphere was ripe with excitement this close to Saturnalia and he caught many frenzied conversations as he pushed his way through the waiting crowd and towards Kalliste. Three men were levering down the wooden bridge for the evening, their muscles straining with exertion, as two crowds of people waited on both sides of the rocky outcrops. With an almighty splash the bridge came down, closing off the waters but opening up a shortcut on land. Zevran had to move quickly across to avoid being trampled by the surge behind him, squeezing and pushing as he met a similar rush from the other side. Breathless and limping he descended the steps on the other side of the harbour, where Kalliste waited impatiently.

It was not easy to climb down from the walls and onto the boat that linked the _The Siren's Call _with the city, but Kalliste assisted him as much as she could and finally he was on deck.

"Who goes there?" a Rivani accented voice boomed from the bow of _The Sirens Call_ before they could take another step. The man it belonged to came into view, his silhouette was vast against the night sky and as he moved into the light of the fire the darkness did not leave his form.

"Angelo?" Kalliste shouted up to him and the man broke into a grin showing teeth that gleamed whiter for the darkness of his skin.

"Kalliste," he beamed, climbing down from the raised deck. The tiny female was swept into a massive bear hug by the giant. When he put her back down their grins matched one another in relief.

"Where's Isabela?" Kalliste said looking wildly around, expecting her Captain to emerge from the gloom.

"A few nights ago there was some trouble down at that whorehouse that she used to frequent, she went to deal with the problem and hasn't been seen since," the man replied a worried tone in his low voice.

"What whorehouse?"

"_The Nymph's Song_."

Fires and candlelight blurred all around him as their small band made their way towards the Pits. Zevran barely remembered the walk there, he was vaguely aware of Almelia's arm through his as she whispered questions that he did not hear, of Kalliste and Aldo arguing as they parted the mob in front of them. His mind was racing with the thousands of possible endings that this journey had, so much that he did not notice when they stopped in front of him.

"We're here," Kalliste whispered putting an arm on his shoulder breaking him away from his bleak thoughts. Hope fled quickly as he looked up at the darkened whorehouse. Large wooden planks barred the downstairs windows; an oaken door had replaced the old one and a series of heavy iron locks that looked difficult to pick barred any unwanted visitors. When Zevran tried to ascend the steps of the porch a magical barrier appeared, gently shocking him. As he stepped backwards it glowed, an eerie blue that momentarily lit the entire street, and then disappeared. _The Nymph's Song _was still silent.

"Rosa?" Zevran shouted upwards. "Vita? It's Zevran." His words echoed round the deserted road and up towards the windows, going unanswered for the longest time. He was beginning to look for other possible entrances when he heard the locks turn quietly and bolts being drawn back. The door flew open and Vita appeared with Fabio of Rialto at her side. A shout went up from inside the house and before Zevran knew what was happening the girl he considered a sister was in his arms, clinging to him desperately as she sobbed. The magical barrier had lifted as Aldo helped Zevran half carry the crying girl back inside the safety of the whorehouse. When they entered, Zevran felt the Veil tear as the barrier was put back in place. Fabio closed and locked the door behind them.

The atmosphere was thick with tension when they entered the bar, a few candles lit faces drawn with emotion. Chairs faced each other in a semi-circle, no-one daring to put their backs to the door. Zevran recognised many of the stricken people, residents of the whorehouse and sailors from Isabela's crew gathered around, children lay sleeping on the floor or sobbing in their mother's arms. The room had been completely destroyed. The bar was gone, leaving a mark on the wooden floor where it used to be, no glasses or bottles were arrayed behind it, all the shelves stood empty. The chairs that were occupied had been nailed back together roughly, and most of them still wobbled on uneven feet. He put Vita down in the only one not in use as Celso, her younger brother put his hand on her shoulder. His knee screamed in agony as knelt as best he could in front of her.

"What happened here Vita?" he asked, but before she could reply the door leading to the kitchen slammed open. Rosa was very rarely happy to see Zevran but when she saw him kneeling by Vita's feet in the hard light of the candles, her face transformed with a complete fury that he had never seen before.

"You've got some nerve turning up after all you've brought on our heads," she shook with the rage of her words, spit coming from her mouth as her fists clenched at her sides. "This is entirely your fault." She moved from the doorway to where Zevran now stood, faster than he thought her bulky frame could manage. It took a second for him to realise she was wielding a rolling pin and he only just managed to duck under the terrific blow aimed at his temples. It took Celso and the bodyguard, Louis, both young muscular men, to hold back the quivering Madam.

"Stop it Rosa," Vita cried getting to her feet, interposing between the two of them. "This is nobody's fault, will you stop blaming everyone." She dissolved back into sobbing at this and Celso broke away from Rosa to hold his sobbing sister. Before Zevran could try to untangle any more information from the web, a cough came from halfway up the stairs.

For a moment Zevran thought his confused mind was playing tricks on him; _why is Alistair wearing such unusual garb?_ But when he looked closer he realised the mage was shorter than the King by half a head, his cheekbones less well defined. As the eyes, that tangled in shades much brighter than Alistair's, fell on the band of strangers they narrowed somewhat. When they glided over Zevran he was sure something shifted behind them, but what he couldn't say. They lingered on the elf for a moment before snapping to Rosa. The entire room had gone silent at his arrival, the faces of Zevran's makeshift family looking expectantly up at the mage.

"Elmo's awake," he said solemnly which seemed to break something in the air. Maria and Gina del Tora, rushed to their mother's side as she let out a wail that was somewhere between anguish and relief. Vita rushed from the arms of her brother, stumbling and tripping on her skirts and tears as she ran up the stairs, fiercely pushing her lips onto the stunned mages. The sailors who were dispersed amongst the family gave a cheer at the news but this was quickly silenced by another shriek from Rosa's lips. A dark sombre stillness fell on the crowd again, punctuated by the desperate breaths of the Madam.

"And now I must tell him his mother is dead, will you cheer for that too?" She fumed at the sailors, shrugging off the quiet whispers of her two daughters. Hiking up her skirts she pushed her way to the stairs, shouldering Anders and Vita out of her way as her heavy footfalls creaked upwards. There was a bustle of activity as the remaining members of the family began to move to follow her. When Zevran shifted to go after them he found a small hand on his shoulder.

"Stay here," Gina del Tora's dark blue eyes glinted up at him with all of the love and kindness that had not been present in her mothers. "She'll calm down soon, I promise." She hugged him swiftly, leaving tears on his neck, then went up into the darkness.

"Will one of you please tell us what the fuck's going on?" Kalliste raged when the room had cleared and only his companions and the sailors remained. Isabela's crew looked sheepish to a man, except for Fabio, who met her furious glares with stoic ones of his own.

"We were in port, Isabela was doing some work for a friend that she felt did not concern us," Fabio began, crossing his arms. "I was here the night they came, playing a tournament with some of the other crew; it was near dawn when they attacked." The man gave a heavy sigh running his fingers through his short black hair.

"Who are they?" some of the anger was gone from Kalliste's voice but it was replaced with a venom upon hearing of the unprovoked assault.

"I cannot say; they wore armour I have never seen before, blackened leather, with intricate designs on the body work. We found this on one of the bodies." He took something out from his breastplate and passed it to Kalliste. When she showed it to Zevran his heart almost stopped. Ruby eyes stared back up at him as he examined the golden brooch carefully; the cat's head was identical to the one he'd seen pinned on the chest of the turn cloak Dalish elf.

"The Cats," he whispered, not wanting to believe it was so. _They've killed Azura_, he realised with a blow that hit him harder than he'd expected. The gentle face of Rosa's eldest daughter swam in front of his vision, she was so alive in his memory and now she was gone, joining so many others he'd known before her, to rest, in pieces of his dreams.

"Go on," Kalliste instructed handing Isabela's first mate back the grisly evidence.

"We tried to protect the whores as best we could; putting ourselves between the doorway and the stairs but there were too many, we were soon overwhelmed." He paced the short distance between the front door and the stairs as if to prove how cramped their fighting space was. "When they broke over us they went straight for the bar, it was too late for the girl behind it. I saw her die." His dark brown eyes were full of remorse as they found Zevran's. "I am sorry I was not fast enough to save her, my friend." Zevran found himself tensing against the wave of emotion that hit him. Greif mixed with a wounding guilt that Rosa's words had only made more painful, engulfed him, he tried to struggle against it but this only made the feeling worse. He could barely manage a nod of gratitude at the man, finding no words within him to reply. "Another band of them came just at the wrong time, the stairs were undefended and they broke up them too easily. I thought we were done for, so many were fallen or too busy still fighting our enemies down here to follow up there. And then, Isabela came." His eyes lit up as though he could see her before him now. "You will not believe me when I tell you that she came with a murder of Crows?" There was indeed uproar at this, not only from Kalliste but from the crew behind Fabio. The sailors moaned and spat on the ground at his words, cursing the band of assassins that Isabela often accused of being no better than slavers. Even Zevran felt a twinge of disbelief in his gut.

"Isabela would never have traffic with the Crows again, she swore..."Kalliste began.

"Oh really? Isabela swore did she? A vow was it, in the sight of the Maker?" Fabio mocked the elf and she choked on her retort. Zevran could not help but think that Fabio was playing with some very dangerous fire. "Whether you choose to believe me or not is of very little consequence, no?" He addressed the entirety of the room when he spoke, turning to face the sailors as well. "Naturally it was not long before Isabela, backed by these Crows, routed the ones you call the Cats and put them to the sword. However as quickly as she was here, she was gone, taking a woman who was staying here with her."

"And who was _she_?" Kalliste pressed but Fabio merely shrugged.

"Some elf," Fabio said with a slight grin, as though there was something he was not telling them and he did not care if they knew. "She came with the mage; I'm sure he could tell you more."

The clock tower in the _Plaza di Papaveri _had long struck midnight when Gina came back down the stairs and beckoned silently for Zevran to follow her. He had spent hours sat silently brooding as the crew around him argued out the specifics of the attack, where the enemies had come from, who they were, why Isabela had left with this woman, but Zevran could hear none of it. _That which nourishes us, will also destroy us_, the words that rang around his shell shocked mind made him feel physically sick and he had to take small sips from the vinegary brandy in his glass to calm his queasy stomach. His whole body ached and moaned as he moved up the stairs, hobbling on his crutch as he followed the short raven tousles of the young whore. The covered lantern she held illuminated their path, casting long shadows up the cramped stairway. They turned off onto the first floor hallway and stopped at a door that Zevran knew to be Rosa's, he took a deep breath as Gina knocked softly and received a reply to enter.

The madam of the house looked every year her age as she sat illuminated by the small fire in the grate. Blankets were strewn across her lap and in her hand an empty glass. The mage sat opposite her and he reached for the bottle of wine between them, filling first her glass then one for Zevran. Gina closed the door, leaving the three of them alone. As Rosa turned to face where he stood in the doorway a look of pain crossed her face.

"You will forgive me my harsh words Zevran," she choked her voice thick with grief. "It is a hard thing to outlive your own child."

"Rosa," he whispered moving to her side, squeezing her arm in his hand. "I am so sorry," he sighed.

"It is not your fault Zevran, I truly mean this my darling boy," tears sparkled in her eyes and warmth beamed up at him. She gave him a slow weary smile, patting her leathery hand over his. "Sit," she motioned to the chair between her and the mage, "and meet our friend." He did as he was instructed, eyeing the mage carefully as he manoeuvred the armchair closer to the Madam.

"Who are you, stranger?" he asked trying to keep his tone polite, there was something about the glance the mage gave him that he did not like but it was gone in an instant to be replaced by bemusement.

"You'll have to speak the King's tongue, Zev. He's from the Ferelden Circle."

"You're from Ferelden?" Zevran turned to him, his eyebrows knitted as he examined the mage closer. The tongue felt strange rolling off his lips; it had been at least two years since he had found it necessary to speak.

"I am," he replied, bristling at the suddenness of the question.

"Who are you?" Zevran asked feeling anger grab at his words inexplicably.

"Who are _you_?" the mage retorted, crossing his arms as he sensed the assassin's hostility.

"Anders, Zevran please stop this," Rosa pleaded, her voice no more than a whisper. "I told you Zev, he's a friend." The both seemed to relax at the tone of her voice, neither of the men wishing to agitate the woman any further.

"I'm Anders of the Ferelden Circle of Magi," the mage extended out his hand to Zevran and the elf eyed it warily before taking it in his own.

"Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Antivan Crows," he replied gripping Anders' hand tightly in his own. "I hear I have you to thank, for saving Elmo's life." Anders shrugged at this, in a way that reminded Zevran strongly of how Elaria used to brush of the grateful people who came to thank her; _perhaps modesty is a Ferelden trait or least something they breed into their mages._

"I'm only sorry I couldn't do more, three guests died as well as..." he broke off as if unwilling to say her name, but when Rosa nodded he continued, "as well as Azura," Anders sighed, running his fingers through his thick hair teasing tendrils out from the band they were tied in. "If you come and see me tomorrow I can probably do something about your leg," the mage went on motioning to Zevran's crutch. "But for now I'm exhausted."

"Thank you," Zevran managed, taking a sip of the dark red alcohol. _At least the mage has good taste in wine_, he thought as he swirled it over his tongue and coconut hues tickled his taste buds. They sat in quiet contemplation for a while, the silence only broken when Anders poured them all more wine.

"Do you know where Isabela went?" Zevran asked the mage after he'd allowed his thoughts to gather. Anders shook his head.

"I was up here when she flanked those bastards, only heard from Fabio that she took Ellie and left." When he said the woman's name something seemed to shift beneath the mages eyes again, that same emotion that Zevran had seen earlier. The elf prided himself on being able to sniff out a lie, and he was sure there was something that Anders was hiding.

"And who is this Ellie?" When the mage shifted uncomfortably in his seat Zevran's suspicions became further aroused.

"Elowyn Tabris, she's my translator. An elf from the Denerim Alienage," Anders met his eyes as he said this and Zevran could find no signal of his earlier discomposure. _A well rehearsed lie? Something with a glimmer of truth? _

"And how does this woman know Isabela?" He pressed the mage but before he could hear an answer Rosa tutted loudly.

"It is late Zevran, perhaps you could save your interrogation for the morning, no? Poor Anders has had a very long couple of days." Rosa looked at the mage with a fondness that she usually reserved for her immediate family. "Go and get some rest, darling," she said leaning over the table to pat the healer on the hand. Anders took no time at all in taking her up on the offer, he had been nervous under Zevran's inquisition and it was obvious he still was as he scurried towards the door.

"Goodnight," he smiled back at them before closing the door behind him.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a time. Rosa surveyed him with a cool stare as he rose, awkwardly moving on his crutch to feed the fire that burnt low. For a time they argued over how best to provoke the guttering flame, but when it flared up they lapsed back into silence.

"That woman is your Warden, you know," Rosa whispered after the longest time, so quietly that Zevran couldn't tell if he'd imagined it. When he looked up at her aged face the expectancy he saw their told him that he hadn't.

"How do you know?" he managed to gasp out attempting to tame the tumultuous emotion raging inside of him.

"When we spoke of you she had that same look in her eye that you do now..." Zevran could not help his snort of incredulity; a look was hardly solid evidence after all. "You may mock me, but you'll see; she stayed in your room. Now help me to bed, child. I'm so weary."

It was no easy feat helping the stout madam to her bed on his crippling knee. He winced at the pain as she leant on him, but bore it for all the kindnesses she had ever shown him. Only once the woman was softly snoring, encased in her feather mattress and duvet, did he take the lantern from her bedside table and quietly leave her room.

When he reached the floor of his attic bedroom his whole body throbbed with the exhaustion of being awake. The crutch rubbed awkwardly under his arm, making it difficult to move much further though the hallway. When he finally reached the doorway to his room he was dead on his feet from fatigue. He realised he didn't have his key, but as the lock had been smashed to pieces it didn't seem to matter. The door blew shut sharply behind him as it caught in the wind pouring into the room. He tried to find some evidence to prove the identity of the woman that had stayed here but his eyes met empty destruction. Red curtains he had never seen before billowed in tatters, tearing on the shards of glass that were all that was left of the window. When Zevran crunched closer over the debris, he saw puddles of dried blood, black in the faint glow of moonlight.

Giving up the short investigation he extinguished the candle and put his crutch to one side, limping towards the bed, barely managing to take off his boots before he lay down. His body was exhausted, his mind was racing. He shivered and pulled the blanket higher over him as a particularly fierce gust of wind swept through the room. Just before sleep took him he found a long dark hair on his pillow. Turning it towards the moonlight he saw it had no hint of colour. It was as black as a crow's feather.


	17. Chapter 17

**_AN: I am sorry that this chapter took so long to get to you, I had to split this into two as the word count was getting out of hand. Thank you all for your kind reviews and pm's, you're an amazing bunch. 3_**

* * *

_Elaria, Antiva City_

A warm light flooding through her eyelids woke Elaria. When she chanced to look she was blinded by its radiance and quickly screwed her eyes against the onslaught. Years of training kicked in and she tried to use her other senses to determine where she was. She could feel the indent that her body made on the soft mattress beneath her, when she tried to move she found it strange that it happened so painlessly. _Was there a fight? I thought my arm was broken_, though when she flexed the muscles there she found no splint restricting her. A white cotton tunic she had never seen before covered her almost completely. Before she could piece anymore together she heard a door creak open in the distance and footsteps echoing on marble floors and up, off into the high ceiling as they clipped towards where she lay.

"She's awake." When she opened her eyes a stern looking female elf shielded her from the sunlight pouring in. She pulled Elaria's face up by the chin turning it this way and that, piercing eyes inspecting her.

"Don't move," she said when Elaria tried to wriggle away from her firm grasp. The woman's hands were supple but worn with age and when she touched her the Warden could smell the faint dusty scent of lyrium. As if to confirm this the mage tore the Veil, casting a diagnostic spell that coursed warm healing magic over her body as it searched out the site of any pain.

"The break is fixed," the old elf moved making Elaria unable to see to whom she spoke as the daylight scorched her eyes. When she tried to sit up she found the thick blanket over her pinned her lying down.

"Where am I?" she croaked trying to pull herself free of her encasement.

"I told you not to move," the strict elf grabbed at her arms pushing her back down with unexpected strength.

"Don't worry you're safe," a familiar voice yawned from behind the mage.

"Isabela?"

"In the flesh, sweet thing."

"Can you get this woman off me?" Elaria begged still struggling against the half crazed elf's insistent hands.

"Come, Deliah, she seems well enough to me," the Rivani Captain appeared in Elaria's vision as she gently pulled the elderly woman away.

"Look, I am the healer here not you. Let me do my job," the mage said indignantly pulling the sleeves of her robe from Isabela's grasps. Elaria had taken the opportunity whilst she was out of the old mages hands to loosen the quilts and sit up. When her eyes adjusted to the room around her she was stunned. Not since she'd stayed at the royal palace in Denerim had she seen such opulence. The bedroom she was staying in could only be described as such due to the fact that it contained a bed, otherwise Elaria had never seen a sleeping room so large. The huge ceiling domed high above her head painted with intricate scenes of death and war in which figures that were barely clad wielded swords or died to them. Colours Elaria had never seen rained down from the scenes, the blood pouring from their wounds was a vivid red that seemed to dance in the light and it was a while before she realised that every droplet was a tiny bead of silk. Underneath this sky of war the grandness continued. Silver tapestries hung from the circular walls each embroidered with the silhouettes of a thousand or more birds in flight, shelves were covered with a multitude of books and ancient swords and a thousand other indecipherable objects.

"Makers breath, where are we?" Elaria managed and the two women turned from where they were still arguing to look at her. Before either could answer a loud rapping at the door preluded the entrance of a man Elaria was sure that she should recognise.

"Ah my friend, it is good to see you recovered," the man spoke the Kings Tongue with a lilting Antivan accent that she knew so well. He moved as gracefully as a breeze towards her side with a smile she had always found oddly kind, given his profession.

"And the pieces of the puzzle all fall together," she responded in perfect Antivan. "Master Ignacio how...unexpected." Elaria narrowed her eyes at Isabela but the Captain simply looked away as though uninterested.

"My dear, you have mastered our language with a delicacy that few of your countrymen have ever achieved. It is a joy to hear you speak," Ignacio continued ignoring the biting anger in Elaria's tones. "I trust you have been well looked after by Deliah, my own personal healer," he continued when the Warden did not answer.

"Cut the crap Ignacio and tell me why the fuck I'm here," Elaria could not stop the welling of rage inside her born from the dark cloud of betrayal that was storming over her. _How could Isabela do this to me? Bring me to this carrion pit of crows._

"I told you she wouldn't like it," Isabela said off-handily, sheathing the dagger she'd been using to clean her nails, but still refusing to meet Elaria's eyes.

"Ah, well perhaps we can talk shop over some breakfast," Ignacio seemed taken aback by her response but soon resumed his unfaltering flattering tone. "I will give you some time to dress and return directly. Come Deliah." He motioned towards the healer who looked for a moment as though she was about to protest, but soon followed in his wake.

Once the door was shut behind them Elaria propelled herself out of the bed and stood before Isabela who had returned to lying on the day sofa where, if the discarded blanket was anything to go by, she'd spent the night. The Warden's arms crossed by themselves as she glared down at the languishing pirate.

"I need to wash," she almost spat at her friend as roils of anger crashed and broke inside her. For the first time Isabela met her eyes and Elaria was taken aback to find her own rage mirrored within them.

"Fine," Isabella whispered, her mouth tightening. She rose in one fluid movement to her feet moving over to a curtained off section of the domed room and pulling the rich fabric back so quickly it almost tore. An ivory bathing tub, big enough to accommodate two, was fixed into the floor by metal pipes. Ornate taps stood at either end of the polished surface and when Isabella turned one a great wailing split the air. Elaria moved over to the object, her anger gone in fascination as the tap spluttered water out in intermittent bursts. When she moved her hand under the flow she was shocked to find that it was almost boiling.

"Makers breath this is incredible," Elaria sighed putting her finger to her lips where the water had scolded her.

"Some sort of dwarven device, no doubt," Isabela responded none of her rage had quieted as she glared at the Warden.

"Look exactly what have _I _done to _you_ Isabela?" Her intrigue died as Isabela's tone rekindled her own anxious fears. "You bring me to this place and you expect me to be what...happy?" The thundering pressure from the pipes began again and Elaria felt she had to shout to be heard over its racket.

"A little gratitude for saving your life would be nice," Isabela shot back.

"Oh its thanks you require, is it? The great Queen of the Eastern Sea saves me from a ragtag group of mercenaries only to bring me into the heart of my enemy's camp and she wants applause?" Elaria regretted the words almost as soon as they'd flown from her mouth. A hurt look flashed across Isabela's face only for a second before it was replaced by her well worn mask of calm.

"Just have your bath, Elaria. We'll talk afterwards."

* * *

Breakfast began as a strained affair. When Elaria had finished washing she'd found the room deserted but her armour, cleaned and scrubbed, and both her blades, expertly sharpened and polished, laid out for her on the bed. She had paced the room for what seemed like hours, conflicting emotions warring inside her. When the battle became exhausting she began to examine the hundred of books that lined the walls on mahogany shelves, but when she sat behind the leather covered desk to read, the text would swim before her as her thoughts ran down dark familiar paths. When Isabela and Ignacio finally returned they brought with them the promised food, carried by elven servants who laid out a table next to two Orlesian windows, which when opened lead to a balcony.

The breeze blew strands of Elaria's darkened hair across her face as she watched the two rogues eat. Her stomach protested at her refusal to join them as the scent of freshly made bread, toasted and buttered wafted up to her.

"Warden please eat, I promise it's not poisoned," Ignacio smiled between bites.

"You also promised that the Crows would not be accepting any more offers on my head," Elaria retorted. "And look how true that turned out to be."

"I had heard such rumours," Ignacio procured a napkin from about his person and began dabbing at invisible crumbs around his lips. "I am sorry that this vow was broken, but know that it was not I who was the perpetrator." He sighed, the white cloth disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "I am ashamed to tell you that the Crows are in disarray, there may, perhaps, be no way of knowing who was responsible but, please, tell me what you can of the attack and I may be able to help you."

Elaria took a deep breath as she analyzed Ignacio, wishing there was some way of knowing how far she could trust him. He wore his kind smile now and when Isabela grasped her knee under the table she felt her resolve break.

"You can trust him Elaria," Isabela whispered and when Elaria tore her eyes away from Ignacio's she was almost overcome with the love and support that shone from Isabela.

She told him everything she could remember. When it came to the hardest parts Isabela's hand gripped her tightly but Elaria's voice did not once deviate from its business like tone. As she spoke she felt as though she was above herself, floating down on the conversation. Words that formed in the cold and practical part of her brain flew from her mouth as she described the horrors she had experienced that night with the same calm authority that she had often delivered battle reports. A range of emotions had flashed across Ignacio's face as she recounted the events of that night but as her tale drew to a close his polite mask was back in place.

"I am horrified to hear of these events, Warden, truly I am," he extended his hand across the table to her own and Elaria found that she believed his words. "I want you to know that I am willing to help you in any way I can."

"And what if I don't want your help?" All the collectedness that she had told her tale with flew from her as an almost sickening anger began to consume her. "What if I would prefer to pull the wings off every Crow I can, until I find the bastard who did this to me?" As the anger vibrated through her she felt something rise within her that she hadn't felt in a long time. The smell of lighting was coming from her as tiny sparks danced over her skin. As suddenly as it had begun the magic faded and Elaria was left struggling to fight the massive wave of exhaustion that almost overpowered her. The two rogues were out of their chairs and at her side, stars obscured her vision, she dry wretched as she fought the weakness.

"Eat something, Elaria," Isabela's demanding tone brought her back to her senses and Elaria found herself obeying like a child. They returned to their seats and watched her chew the now cold bread in silence.

"Though I cannot say I know the pain you feel, I understand fully why you would mistrust us," Ignacio sighed when she had finished eating. "Perhaps we could work to mend these bridges between us, no? I would hate to see the blood of so many innocent Crows on your delicate hands."

"Is there such thing as an innocent killer?" Elaria asked coldly and Ignacio chuckled as he surveyed her.

"Perhaps innocent is not the right word, naive perhaps and some are certainly victims," his eyes darkened as he spoke. "There is, for example, a Crow Master I know who delights in the torture of his young recruits, specific details are too unseemly for the breakfast table but I assure you he is a monster."

"You think he had something to do with what happened to me?" Elaria breathed.

"It would not do for me to get your hopes up, Warden," Ignacio sighed. "There are too many of his ilk festering within our organisation." He ran his fingers through his hair and Elaria realised that the man seemed much older than the last time she'd seen him. Dark rings around his eyes spoke of too many nights without sleep, lines had crawled their way into the corners of his eyes, there was a tension hardening his lips that had not been there three years ago. She felt an overwhelming sympathy at the strain of command that had taken its toll on the middle aged man; she knew well how heavy that burden could lie upon ones shoulders.

"Do you think that our purposes are the same, Ignacio?" she asked, almost not daring to believe. "If you intend to rain down terror on the heads of these evil bastards, then I swear that I will assist you." Surprise glistened in Ignacio's eyes, but there was something deeper behind them that Elaria could only define as hope.

"_Naught may endure but mutability,"_ Ignacio chuckled. "Thank you, Warden. Your help will be much appreciated," he leapt to his feet at once, enthusiasm pouring from his every movement. "If you truly mean to help us then perhaps you wouldn't mind beginning now."

Elaria took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering of anxiety that rose in her stomach. Unable to speak she nodded her head meekly as Ignacio bounded towards the door. He called a name down the hallway that she couldn't hear over the pounding of her heart. When he returned the elf that came behind him almost took her breath away. Everything about him, from the way he moved to the tattooed marks on his face screamed Zevran's name at her, but the elf was not the assassin. Amber eyes set into skin paler than freshly fallen snow, regarded her with a hunger that she had often seen in other eyes of that exact hue. She struggled to hide her shock as he advanced closer and it was a while before she realised he was holding something which would be even more familiar than his eyes.

"Guido, this is the woman I was telling you about," Ignacio introduced, drawing up a chair for the new arrival.

"I could not of imagined a lovelier face," Guido drawled as he put the bundle he was carrying onto the table with a clang. "I am Guido, my beautiful lady, temporary Master of the Sixth Cell of Crows." He extended out his now free hand as he sat gracefully next to her. She took it in her own, wary of the flood of emotions that the elf's presence was creating in her. When he grasped her hand she met his eyes for the first time, a smile that was hard to read spread across his face as his eyes moved unashamedly over her body. It was only when Ignacio cleared his throat that she realised that Guido had been holding her hand for an inappropriately long time.

"Ah forgive me my lady," he said, finally releasing her from his grasp. "You are very naughty to distract me in such a way." Elaria could not help the exasperated gasp escaping her lips as the assassin chuckled.

"To business if you will, Guido. I didn't bring you here to flirt," Ignacio's tone was curt and clipped, but this had very little effect on the arrogant assassin.

"Oh? Then perhaps you should not have brought two such delightful women here to aid us," his eyes moved over to where Isabela sat on the other side of Elaria, drinking the pirate Queen in with the same hunger they had Elaria. "But you are quiet right, Ignacio, we should get to business." Deft fingers fell to the heavy bundle he had carried into the room, when he pulled back the fabric to reveal its contents; Elaria had to struggle to hide her astonishment. "My friend here tells me that you could help me identify these blades." Guido slid the longsword and the dagger from their respective sheaths and Elaria felt something tear deep within her. _Starfang_ and _The Rose's Thorn_ gleamed in the sunlight. The two unmistakable blades that she had not seen for over two years, along with the man who was supposed to wield them, lay on the table in front of her as polished and shining as they'd been on the day's she'd bequeathed them to him. There was a long silence before Elaria could find the strength to speak, she was very aware of the three waiting for her answer.

"I know these swords," was all she could whisper and she found her hand hovering over the hilt of _Starfang_, remembering the hand that had wielded it.

"Would you mind telling me to who they belong, little dove?" Guido asked softly. She felt cracks rising in her armour and when she tried to say his name it came out just a gasp.

"Zevran Arainai," she choked out somehow, turning her head away from her companions in an attempt to hide her anguish. Fighting down the sadness she was shocked to find it replaced with, the by now familiar, tingles that heralded the beginnings of anxiety. "Where did you find these?" She managed to croak out as she felt Isabela's hand return to her knee. Guido regarded her for a moment and looked to Ignacio before he spoke, only when the Crow Master had nodded did Guido begin to speak.

"These blades were found in a room next to the body of Gustavo Menza, my former Master. If what you say is true then it is likely Arainai who killed him." The elf's eyes narrowed when he spoke the other man's name and Elaria could not help but feel there was some history between the two of them. "Do you know where Arainai is now?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Elaria sighed. "I thought he would never leave those blades willingly." Isabela's grip tightened on her leg when she could not stop the hurt being obvious in her voice. Elaria slumped back in her chair, exhausted by the battle of emotions. Flicking open her eyes, that she hadn't even realised she'd closed, she found the three regarding her warily. "Why do you want to know who killed your Master?" _If they want my help to find Zevran then I should at least make sure they don't want to kill him first._

"By rights the one who murders a Master must fill his shoes," Guido answered though he seemed unhappy by the fact. "Even if they're a good for nothing scoundrel like Arainai." Elaria was taken aback by the bitterness in his words.

"What was Menza doing when he died?" She asked, attempting to steer the subject away from Zevran, but this seemed to make the elf more resentful. It was a while before she realised that he was grieving for his Master.

"We were chasing a lead on...a target," Guido replied but Ignacio tutted.

"Not just any target...tell them the truth," Ignacio commanded.

"The Lady of Cats," the elf hissed the name and Elaria felt her skin crawl as her eyes met Isabela's. The words of the Seers prophecy rang around her head. _The cats have got Zevran._

"Who?" Elaria managed to breathe.

"If we knew the answer to that question the hunt would be much easier," Guido sighed. "Some say she is a myth made real by magic, others say she is merely a vengeful mother but all the stories agree that she has one purpose; to kill every Crow she can." Guido gave a look of disgust as though he could see his dead comrades before him. "She has sent men I thought brave running from us. The Crows are merely a shadow of our former selves and it is mostly because of _her_." _What have you gotten yourself into Zev?_ She couldn't help but think. Of all the emotions that clouded her thoughts of him, fear had been the most poignant for a long time. At Guido's words its fierce point became sharper than ever.

"What happened that night?" She questioned after they had all lapsed into their own thoughts for a time.

"We were spread too thinly across the warehouse district. Gustavo was insistent that tonight would be the night we would find her," Guido's amber eyes shone as he looked off into the distance. "We had enlisted some idiot guardsmen to help us, when I found one of them dead it began to set off alarm bells. I returned to my Master's side with the news but he was unperturbed, when I last saw him alive he had come across a magically sealed door and demanded that I find him a mage. When I returned the door was open and he...he was dead." Though Guido stuttered it was the only display of grief he allowed himself before continuing. "I found these blades within the room beyond that door but nothing else remained." When she put her hand over his to comfort him, he turned to her, his face a lurid mask. "Ah, such a compassionate little dove." She removed her hand quickly from his grasp as he tried to entangle her fingers in his own.

"I would like to thank you for returning these blades to me," Elaria said brusquely.

"Oh, I thought you said they were Arainai's?" Guido's eyes sparked with something that she did not want to read.

"As it was I who gave them to him I feel that it would be appropriate of you to allow me to keep them," she replied letting a coolness seep into her voice. When she dared to meet his amber eyes again she found them full of knowing.

"Very well," he whispered, a smirk playing about his lips. She grabbed the hilt of _Starfang, _unceremoniously sheathing it and placing it on her lap.

"Though as I said, I am grateful. I would like you to keep _The Rose's Thorn_, as thanks," she indicated the dagger that still lay in front of him. His lips parted in surprise.

"It is too much, I cannot accept such a gift," Guido breathed and Elaria felt a warmth flood through her that she had not felt in years. His hands hovered eagerly over the dagger, tracing the beautifully crafted dragonbone blade, not daring to touch the hilt where intricately carved runes magically glistened.

"Please, take it," she whispered. "I hope you'll appreciate it more than its previous owner." She found him searching over her like spot light, attempting to find some emotion stirring in the calmness of her mask. Upon finding none he broke into a smile.

"Beautiful, compassionate and generous, you truly are a remarkable woman," he gasped, finally allowing himself to touch the blade, testing its sharpness, balancing it on his fingers to find the tang.

"What are you doing?" Isabela whispered whilst the assassin was distracted. "That dagger's worth over a hundred sovereigns."

"And how much is an ally worth, Isabela?" Elaria replied back so quietly that the pirate had to strain to hear her. Guido had risen now and was undoing the straps that held his right handed dagger to his hip and replacing it with _The Rose's Thorn._

"How can I ever thank you for your kindness?" He beamed down at her and Elaria could not help but smile back at him.

"You can help me clean up the Crows."

* * *

"Your eyes will adjust to the darkness soon, little dove, but for now take my hand," she did as she was instructed clasping her fingers around Guido's in the blackness of the tunnel. It had taken hours, daylight had fled quickly, but between the four of them they had concocted a plan to take the Master of the twelfth cell unaware. This particular brute was the one that Ignacio had mentioned to Elaria, and she could not help but force them to carry out their ambush as soon as possible, it had been too long since she'd felt the thrill of a plan coming together. Guido had been as instrumental in their scheme as Elaria had expected, his knowledge of the underground tunnels that extended beneath the entire city was second to none. His mind was as quick as her own, as they weighed their options they often found each other's thoughts drifting along such similar paths that they finished each other's sentences. His presence had kindled an excitement within her that she hadn't felt for a long time. When his hands drifted around her waist she had to fight to make herself slap them away. The way he reminded her of Zevran had overpowered her and in the darkness surrounding them, when she could only hear his voice and feel his touch, the feeling had intensified.

"Watch out," he gasped and she felt his strong arms snake about her before she lost her footing. The sound of rock crumbling away from beneath her feet made her leap backwards. "There's a hole there," he breathed as she felt the warmth of his body press against her. His mouth was at her ear and she couldn't fight the shudder that tingled over her when she felt his heavy breath. "I knew you'd been in my arms in the darkness soon enough," he whispered and she could _feel_ his smile as his lips brushed against her neck.

"Let's just keep moving," she replied trying to keep the lust from her voice as she untangled herself from his embrace and stepped surely onto the other side of the pit. Guido was beside her in a second, grabbing her hand and moving forward, deeper into the tunnel.

Their progress was slow. The ground of the tunnels was treacherously uneven and though her eyes adjusted to the darkness she still kept a hand on her surefooted companion, who knew every pitfall and sharp incline. At the beginning of their mission, deep in the basement of Ignacio's cellhouse the tunnels had started as cavernous spaces but as they moved forward in the gloom she began to sense the ceilings becoming lower. They were almost crouching when Guido stopped abruptly, pulling her sharply into a cramped alcove just off the main part of the tunnel.

"Listen," he whispered when she struggled against him, she could barely concentrate with him this close and for a second she could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart. Then, out of nowhere, she could hear it too, grotesque, heavy and slithering closer.

"Spiders," Guido hissed so quietly she could barely hear. As the sound became louder she knew that he was right, she could hear their fangs clattering together, the dripping sound of their poisonous saliva and their insectile movements as twenty or more legs probed in the darkness. When a hairy leg brushed between the two elves, missing both their faces by mere inches, Elaria felt Guido draw his dagger. Suddenly he was out of their alcove and toppling one of the disguising arachnids onto its back. She heard the beast give an unearthly screech as his blade easily found the delicate parts of its fleshy abdomen. As she heard the responding wails of three more of the overgrown beasts, behind Guido, she drew both her daggers and moved to where the elf was pulling _The Roses Thorn _out of the dead spider's carapace.

When the two elves whirring blades met the onslaught of wiry black legs Elaria was surprised to hear a deep rich humming reverberating around the cavern. As her dragonbone cut through the legs of one of the beasts the song grew louder and she realised it was Guido's voice as the shanty took form. When she struck in time with the beat she found her blade cut through the spiders with a strength and ferocity that was not hers alone. His husky voice crescendoed over the death wails of the spiders as they fell, like so many pieces of shattered glass. When it was done he breathed one final note that sent shivers up her spine, as she wiped the black gore from her blades.

"I didn't know you were a bard," she smiled as he stepped towards her, over the stinking twitching corpses.

"There is a lot you don't know about me, little dove. Considering I am still unaware of your name, I am sure you will forgive me for not revealing all my secrets at once," he sheathed his two daggers and grabbed her hand once again. "Come, we are not far now."

As they went deeper into the caves the floor became more even but began to sharply descend. She could feel the cobblestones through the soles of her dragonskin boots and damp stony walls beneath her fingertips. When the floor evened out she was blinded by torchlight. At the end of the tunnel a shadow moved next to the fire and Guido's hand stretched out stop her going any further.

"What is the colour of night?" Guido's question echoed towards the figure, as it removed the torch from the bracket.

"Sanguine, my brother," a lilting female voice responded.

"I should have known you'd meet me here Sabrina," Guido chuckled moving towards the light. When the woman removed her hood his laughter stopped abruptly. Elaria was taken aback to see deep bruising and recent unhealed scars marring an otherwise delicate and beautiful face. Guido was at the woman's side in an instant attempting to take her swollen face in his hands but she brushed him away. "Did _he_ do this to you?" Guido hissed anger knotting his features. The woman merely nodded.

"You didn't say you'd be bringing anyone else with you," Sabrina's eyes were deep pools of mistrust as they flickered over Elaria.

"She's come to help," Guido responded. "Come let's go, we don't have much time."

Elaria hung back as the two Crows took the lead, readying herself for the upcoming battle. Her hands drifted over the two pommels of her daggers and the belt at her hips from which hung several hastily prepared healing potions. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

They had only covered a short distance when her two companions stopped. Sabrina put the torch in a bracket which lit up an old, obviously disused ladder. Guido tested every rung before putting his weight on them and soon he had ascended so high that she could no longer see him in the fire light. Sabrina scuttled up afterwards, throwing her long black cloak over her shoulder so as not to trip. Elaria waited for a second, drawing comfort from the warmth and light of the flame and taking a few deep breaths before following the woman into the blackness.


	18. Chapter 18

Zevran,

Zevran stood away from the small crowd, a huddle of black against the long white expanse of the sand. The dark grey clouds threatening rain reflected the dampened mood of the gathering. Wind bit against his exposed ears, blowing kernels of sand everywhere as he shielded his eyes from the razor like gust.

"O, Maker hear me cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places," the Chanter's words were taken by the wind, stealing them into the dunes. Occasionally it grasped at grieving wails sweeping them away from the huddle of bodies. Gina's grief for her elder sister was obvious, clasping at the shoulder of her stoic son, her cries mixed with the screeching of the wind. Pietro was desperately trying to comfort his mother, reaching as high as he could to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Zevran felt nothing. The ruptures in his heart had been sewn up with threads of stone, mending him with a familiar numbness. _It is strange, when we leave this world everybody else cries, but when we are born it is only us who are wailing._ Crying was not an indulgence he had allowed himself for a long time, tears were beaten out of every young Crow recruit and he had been no exception. _You mourned Rinna's death, you wept like a new born babe. She caused all this. It's her fault as much as it's _your_ fault._ He felt he could connect nothing with nothing. From his place, high on top of the dunes, he could see his friends, his family all gathering comfort from each other.

"O creator see me kneel," the chanter continued, and as one the throng of blackness went to their knees. "For I walk only where You would bid me. Stand only in places You have blessed. Sing only the words you place in my throat." Zevran was not the only one keeping his distance from the ceremony, Anders lingered, closer than he however, with his arms crossed; a sullen expression on his face, pointedly refusing to get to his knees. When the sun broke through the storm of clouds it illuminated the entire beach in its sudden glow, making both Zevran and the mage shade their eyes. The Chanter however broke off, raising his arms, welcoming the radiance. Only when the clouds had once again engulfed the light did he continue. "My Maker, know my heart. Take me from a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride." The Brother began to beckon at somebody within the mourners. Elmo's tiny figure was drenched in a black jacket much too big for him, and when he tried to stand his feet tripped over the trailing material. He righted himself quickly however and moved towards the chanter and the body of his mother.

Azura had been dressed in a light gown the colour of amethyst which flew, with her raven hair, in the wind. A wreath of lilacs had been placed atop her hair, a poesy of lilies in her hands. Anders had done what he could to make the poor woman's corpse presentable; there was very little evidence of the killing blow that had struck her temple, other than a slight yellowish discolouration of her skin around that area. The family had spent the morning gathering driftwood from the shores, binding it together with fresh palm leaves to form the raft that the dead woman now lay upon. Rosa had flustered over the expense of the oils that had to be placed among and over the body, until Anders pressed a pouch of gold into the woman's hand. The amount far exceeded the cost of any oils and Zevran's suspicions about the mage began to rekindle.

"My Creator, judge me whole. Find me well within Your grace," as the Canticle began to ascend to its zenith the Chanter reached down to the small boy, picking him up in his arms and waded into the ocean. Other mourners took this as a signal and got to their feet, rows of black encircled Azura as they lifted her up, following the priest into the tide and holding the raft in place. "Touch me with fire that I might be cleansed," as these words were said Elmo was handed a lantern and the Chanter lowered the boy so he might press the flames against the torso of his dead mother. As the fire engulfed her Zevran could see the wetness on the boy's podgy cheeks. The tide caught hold of the raft dragging it first inwards and then pushing her out. Flames spluttered in the white wash of the waves but refused to go out. "Tell me I have sung to Your approval."

Solemn and shivering they came back to the wind blasted shore, the ones who had remained rushing to meet their friends. He saw Vita take the howling Elmo from the priest's arms, cradling him to her breast. Her eyes found Zevran's for a moment, high up on his perch, before she turned with the others to watch the flaming raft drift out to sea. "O Maker hear my cry. Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory. And let the world once more hear Your favour." Greasy black smoke was ascending into the grey sky from the raft, now a speck in the distance. As Zevran turned his back on the ritual and began to descend warily down the steep sandy incline, the first pattering of rain began.

He walked the streets until the rain was gone and a harsh bright light finally broke through the clouds. Soaked through and shivering he climbed the wall leading to the back of the whorehouse, scrapping his hand in his carelessness. When his feet touched the ground he was surprised to find the brambles there had been beaten down. He began walking towards the back door but stopped in his tracks when he heard excited voices punctuated by a heavy thwacking. Drawing both his daggers he crept forwards, though his limbs were stiff from the cold and damp and his armour chaffed. When the backyard came into view he felt as though the brambles had grown around his ankles and rooted him to where he stood.

Anders was surrounded by the children of the whorehouse, each one equipped with a spade or pitchfork, organised as an army, fighting back the brambles. Zevran watched, transfixed for a time, as the children pulled, dug and tackled the wet spiky weeds, some of which were taller than them. So busy in their work were they that they didn't notice him ascend onto the half rotten decking behind them. Vita stood in the back doorway, watching Anders instruct the mud strewn rabble on the best way to beat back their thorny opponents. Elmo was in her arms, fast asleep.

"What's going on?" he whispered to her, not wanting to wake the boy.

"Anders' has some half-baked idea to use this land to grow herbs," Vita's words were disdainful but she could not hide the admiration in her voice. Zevran noticed the way her eyes moved over the mages body as he worked.

"Do not get attached to him, Vita. There's something about him I don't trust."

"You don't trust anyone," she sighed sadly shrugging her shoulder as best she could under her burden. When she finally met his eyes hers were full of tears though he did not know why she cried. With no response he turned from her, ignoring the sounds of drunken revelry coming from the bar and ascending upwards, to the solitude of his room.

After climbing the two flights he was unnerved to find his door ajar. Pommels of his weapons found their home in the palms of his hand as he creaked the door fully open with his boot. They found their sheaths again when he saw Kalliste's distinctive outline at the window.

"Was it necessary to pick my lock?"

"I told her we should wait downstairs," Zevran spun around to face Aldo. He was sat in a comfortable armchair that he had procured from Maker knew where.

"I didn't want to intrude on their grief," Kalliste whispered, a melancholy tone in her voice, her eyes still fixed out of the window.

"What do you want?" Zevran could not hide the contempt in his voice. His head was pounding, his hand still stung from the scrape. What he wanted now more than ever was solitude. Kalliste bristled at his tone, turning to face him with a snarl but before she could begin her inevitable tirade Aldo gave a discreet cough and the blade of her anger dulled.

"I thought that you should know that something happened last night in the Crow Quarter," drawled Aldo, flicking a sovereign across his knuckles. The Crow had certainly regained some of his old swagger upon returning to the city. "But if you don't want to talk..."

"Could you be, perhaps, slightly more specific than 'something'?," Zevran spat, vainly attempting to pull in the reins of his anger.

"Sadly not much more, my listeners tell me is that the twelfth cell has fallen," Aldo tucked the coin into his richly embroidered doublet too quickly for Zevran to see.

"How do you know?"

"Marco Despotolli's head was found atop a spike in the middle of the _piazza dei corvi_, three witnesses will attest to this," Aldo leaned forward in his chair his eyes burning through Zevran.

"It has to be her, it has to be Rinna," Kalliste wailed and the two men turned to her just in time to see the sob that wracked her body before she turned away.

"Are you alright, Kai?" Zevran was shocked at the softness in Aldo's tone as he went to move to the elf's side.

"I'm fine," Kalliste gasped shrugging off the comforting hand the Whisperer placed on her shoulder, refusing to break her stare from the window.

"She may have once been a friend, to both of you," Aldo began glancing back at Zevran. "But whatever she is now, she is no longer that person that you once knew. She may..."

"Don't you think I know that already?" Kalliste whirled on Aldo, her face hiding none of the gnawing sorrow and pain eating away at her. Aldo moved forwards, into the maelstrom of her rage, his arms extended to embrace the furious woman. She struggled against him, fists finding soft unarmoured flesh and though Aldo winced, he endured, grasping her tightly close to him like a child. Finally her anger abated and she sobbed quietly into his chest. The Whisperer gently steered her to the armchair, sitting patiently by her knee, stroking her hair as she continued to cry.

Zevran turned away from the pair to the window. Once he had been a rock amidst a crashing ocean of _feeling_, weathering any wave that would burst over him. Rinna's tide had been the first to sweep over his sanctuary, leaving him soaking wet and broken. He had hurled himself off the cliff, no longer caring where the wind or waves would take him, only to be caught in merciful arms. The Warden had charged through the broken gates of his heart quicker than he would care to admit and now he had to rebuild from what little material he could find. And there was a storm coming. Aldo's sudden hand on his shoulder forced his wondering mind back to the present.

"It may not even be her, my friend. Despotolli was hated by many people, anyone of them could have done this," he was speaking softly and when Zevran turned he saw Kalliste was fast asleep in the chair. Zevran merely grunted at this, feeling the will to fight ebbing away, his lack of response made Aldo sigh. "Whatever you once felt for this girl, you _must_ put it aside. She's out for your blood Zevran, that much is undeniable."

"I know," he sighed, exhaustion tracing lines across his words. There was a silence between them for a long time. It was thick, heavy and uncomfortable.

"We have to bring the fight to her, we cannot just sit back on our laurels and let her gather an army," Aldo pressed.

"I know," Zevran repeated, at a loss for what else to say. He tried to run his fingers through his hair, forgetting it was braided. "Do you have any suggestions?" He finally managed, though he found he was too weary for planning.

"Join with the remaining Crows," Aldo's voice was so quiet now that Zevran almost didn't hear, or didn't want to hear.

"No," he hissed back. "I escaped them once, I will not go back."

"It would be different now, they _need_ you. We could take a cell each, clean up the rabble and most importantly have men to fight this war. You saw for yourself the extent of her hand, if she's being backed by the Dalish then the three of us stand no hope." The quiet continued after that, though Aldo could not hide his agitation at Zevran's apathy, shifting his weight from one foot to another, creaking the floor beneath him. "The Crows just need a leader to rally around; they are ripe for the picking now and there is no-one more qualified than you."

"Give me some time," Zevran responded weakly.

"A resource we do not have much of, my friend."

Ribbons of red light danced over the garden as he watched through the panes of glass. From this height he could see the progress that the children and Anders were making. There was something cathartic about watching them carve their various paths through the bracken. He did not know for how long he stood there, alone, trying desperately not to think of _anything_; not the crippling doubts he had over Rinna, nor his grief at Azura's death, not his mistrust of Anders, not his niggling fears for the Warden. He just wanted nothing. _Watch the children_ he told himself sternly, steering himself off those melancholy roads. Before he could begin to refocus his mind there was a sharp knock at his door.

"It's unlocked," he croaked.

Vita pushed the door open with her free hand, placing the tray of bread and cheese on the desk next to the bed. When Zevran saw it was her he went back to his attempts at distraction.

"I thought you might be hungry..."

"I'm not," it came out harsher than he'd intended, there was a pause as he regretted and she examined.

"What's wrong, Zev?"

"It would be a much simpler to answer what's right," Zevran sighed turning to face her. The whore still wore her simple black mourning frock, her face was drawn and pale, her eyes red the only evidence of her grief.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked her mouth hardening.

"Yes, you could; not worry your pretty little head about it," he managed a half smile as he reached to stroke her cheek.

"I'm not a child anymore," she said pulling away from his touch. "I want to know what's going on. Everybody is intent upon keeping me in the dark, but I am stronger than all of you think."

"Vita," he sighed. "Please, can we talk about it later, I promise, I'll tell you all I know. Just give me some time. Stay, eat with me." The weariness in his tone seemed to replace her curiosity with care, and she moved forward to squeeze his hand for a moment before taking the rickety wooden seat at the desk and cutting thick slices of bread. Zevran perched on the bed next to her and they ate in silence.

He was chewing through the last of the unappetising fare when a shout from outside drew their attention. When he met Vita's eyes he saw the fear he shrouded reflecting out at him. They moved as one to the window. Through the musty panes they could not make out no detail so he quickly flew it open, both their heads poking out into the fading light.

Anna del Tora's shouts continued but they could now see it was excitement not fear that spurned her onwards. Anders was beating a path with his body, with no concern for the brambles tearing at his clothes and skin, desperate to reach the young girl. When he finally made it onto the thin track she had carved out he ran to her, grasping her in his arms and tearing the Veil as he spun around searching for danger. The girl's silken giggles soared up to them and Anders held her at arm's length, examining her closely. Even from here they could see the confusion on his face. They could not hear what the girl said to him but whatever it was made the mage smile and ruffle Anna's golden curls.

"I told you he was a good man," Vita breathed, passion perfuming her words.

"One good act does not a good man make," he responded watching Anna and Anders carefully. The girl proceeded to part the bracken before her, showing Anders something that Zevran and Vita could not see.

"He's done much more than _you_ have since you got here," Vita said haughtily. "Come on, I want to see what they've found."

"I think I'll just stay..."

"You _will _not," Vita demanded, tugging at his arm and steering him with an alarming strength out of the door. "The fresh air will do you good." She rambled as she pushed him out into the hallway and down the stairs, ticking off on her fingers Anders' charitable deeds.

Cool crisp air of early evening hit them as they entered the garden. Though the children had worked all afternoon there was still a forest of brambles before them with several paths extending into it. They could hear shouts and laughter coming from the left and Vita grabbed his hand, smiling at him as she pushed her way towards the sound. Bracken that Anna had been too short to clear struck at them as they slid their way through. It was not long before they reached the gaggle of children chopping a clearing around what appeared to be a structure, long reclaimed by ruthless nature. Anders spun around when he heard their approach and he was not the only one.

"Uncle Zevran!" Anna and her twin sister Elsa darted as one golden comet towards him, unceremoniously pushing Vita aside and grasping onto his legs. He patted the two girls on the head as their identical chocolate coloured eyes gazed up at him, though the emotions that they showed were very different indeed.

"Did you know Aunty Azura died?"

"Come look what I found!" They spoke at the same time, there words crashing together excitement and grief all in one moment. They began to glare at each other. "You're so stupid Elsa, he doesn't want to talk about that." Anna wrinkled her nose up in disdain.

"It's not stupid," Elsa whispered sadly, looking down at her feet.

"I didn't say it was stupid, I said _you_ were stupid," Anna grinned thumping her sister lightly on the shoulder.

"Don't hit me," she wailed. Zevran pulled the two girls away from each other, maintaining a careful smile as they looked up at him.

"Let us see what Anna has found, hmm little one?" He squeezed Elsa's hand. "We shall talk later, yes?" The solemn girl nodded as Anna dragged him into the clearing. The other children shouted greetings or waved and he nodded back at them.

"Afternoon," Anders threw over his shoulder in Antivan, though Zevran almost shuddered at the clumsiness of his accent. As the mage attempted to pull a particularly stubborn tangle of vines off the structure a sharp ripping sound split the air and he staggered back as the weeds whipped off. The children began whopping with delight at the small victory. Anders began to inspect what was underneath.

The wood was damp and mulched in places where nature grasped her branches and roots but somehow the out building still maintained its shape. Under Anders' close observation the children began to tear away at years of overgrowth, even Elsa seemed somewhat heartened by the anticipation of the find. Though the plants grabbed jealously at their treasure they were no match for the exuberant and seemingly endless energy of youth. Zevran stood back and watched as they worked; tearing, cutting, breaking and soon the construction began to take form.

"A way in! I've found a way in!" Pietro exclaimed and there was a rush and push of bodies as the rest of them crowded around him. Before Anders could stop the boy, his elder brother Sesto had provided a leg up and Pietro's backend was dangling out of the hole. There was a booming crash as the boy fell, head first, into the darkness.

"Pietro!" Anders and Vita exclaimed together.

"I'm alright," Pietro groaned his voice muffled.

"Be careful."

"What can you see?"

"Is it treasure?" The children began laughing and jostling Dario, the youngest member of their tribe still present.

"It's not going to be treasure, silly."

"More likely to be a latrine."

"What's a latrine?"

"Where did you learn such a fancy word?"

"Quiet," Anders demanded and something about the mage made them obey when usually they would revolt. "What can you see, Pietro?"

"It's pretty dark," he shouted, "It smells really funny, like Granny's cooking," a round of laughter greeted this which Anders quickly hushed.

"Watch your step, the floorboards are probably rotten," Zevran advised, moving closer to the small hole the boy had wiggled into.

"Wait I think..." Pietro began but the rest of what he said was lost in the following crash. The whole of the unstable structure wobbled, years of mud and dust once disturbed began falling down the roof towards them.

"Watch out," Anders shouted, tearing The Veil swiftly, stopping the oncoming avalanche. The children were open mouthed at the hovering weight above them, blue wisps of magic intertwining among the clumps of mulch. It wasn't until the mage shouted to move that they did so, crushing and shoving their way to safety. Anders deftly moved his hands and the rubble cascaded over a pile of far off bracken.

"Pietro, are you OK?" Vita questioned, hurriedly rushing to Anders' side.

"Over here," the boy shouted and the tips of his fingers wiggled over the canopy at the back of the shed. "I found a door, well it was a door." Anders immediately began clearing a path to the boy, flinging roots and thorny tendrils aside as his gloved hands and booted feet tore and trod. The rest of the young ones cheered and shouted encouragement. Soon Pietro came into view, covered from head to toe in mud and cobwebs, an angry red line grazed across his forehead, spread eagled on the floor, his face a triumph of wild exhilaration. Zevran felt Anders casting a healing spell over the boy and Pietro gasped at its unfamiliar warmth.

The back of the building was just as wild as the front had been. Pietro's fall had broken the door completely off its rusted hinges, flattening the branches around it. Splinters of wood and metal covered the ground and Zevran warned them to tread carefully. Once Pietro had been pulled to his feet, Anna pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Cautiously picking the remaining bracken that hung over the newly made entrance, she sidled her small frame past its clutches and into the darkness. Instantly there was dissension from the others.

"Why does _she _get to go in first?"

"Just hurry up alright."

"It's not my fault Dario's in the way."

"Am not."

"Are too."

When the arguments had been resolved, they shuffled slowly inside. The space was cramped and already hot with breath when Zevran finally managed to slide into a gap. The children were all buzzing and moaning with excitement, small fights broke out; it was only Zevran's quick wits that stopped a podgy hand whacking him in the groin.

"Be quiet," Anders' voice cut through the flurry like a knife and after a series of shushes and hushes there was a still silence of anticipation. The tingle of gathering magic made the children gasp and when a small controlled flame appeared in the mages hand, fluttering harmless over his palm, they ooed and ahhed in appreciation. Though the fire burned and crackled it gave off no heat just a warm flickering light that illuminated the entire space. There was a rush of movement as the children began looking around en-masse.

All around them shelves were piled high with books that had long rotted in the almost subterranean atmosphere. The ceiling buckled under the accumulated weight of the plant mass above them, beneath their feet a carpet moulded in places, though patches still showed that it was patterned with intricate designs that could only mean it was Orelesian. The children began rifling through the many draws and shelves, scattering mouldy paper and other debris everywhere. When Zevran was pushed aside by an overexcited Dario he was surprised when his foot brushed against a protrusion in the carpet. The children were all too absorbed in their task to notices him; Vita and Anders were busy attempting to resolve an argument between the twins. Pushing a piece of loose carpet upwards with his drakeskin boot he investigated what lay beneath.

"I've found something," Sesto shouted from over the other side of the room. Zevran quickly covered his find and went to join the swarm around the boy.

"What is it?"

"I can't see, let me see."

"You're blocking out the light, Elsa."

"Shut up."

"No, you shut up."

Sesto was kneeling on the floor, a series of draws had been opened before him, stacks of damp paper, rusted pieces of unidentifiable metals, used paint brushes and broken pencils littered the floor, but what lay in his hands was very different. An intricately carved box, untouched by the forces of nature sat heavily on his lap. The boy's fingers trembled as they drifted over the markings finally getting to the brass lock.

"It _is_ treasure!"

"Shut up, it's just a bloody box."

"Language!"

"Open it already."

"I can't, it's locked."

"Let me see," Zevran gently moved the twins aside and knelt down next to Sesto. The boy clutched at the box, believing that somehow if he let go it would no longer be real. Zevran smiled reassuringly and finally Sesto relented. Pulling a leather pouch from a hidden pocket in his breastplate, which had been specifically designed for such things, he selected the smallest lock pick he had from its silken interior. The lock was particularly fiddly. It took a few moments but soon a satisfying click was followed by a mass intake of breath. Sesto grinned as Zevran handed the unopened box back to him and slowly opened the lid.


	19. Chapter 19

_**AN: Long chapter is long and dark, you have been warned! Big thanks to all of you lovelies still faving and reveiwing, you keep me going. :) **_

Elaria, _The Crow Quarter,_

Moonlight shone through high Orlesian windows as the three intruders crept past deserted rooms. Heavy white canvas sheets covered objects of various shapes and size. Dust plumed even at their light steps, glistening as it took to the air. High stone walls made even the slightest noise catch and echo into the distance. The corridor was long, and if Guido's intelligence was correct, located in a disused wing of Despotolli's sprawling mansion.

When the door came within sight Sabrina's steps quickened, still noiseless, against the marble floor. Extracting from her armour a singular pick, the woman attempted to slot it into the keyhole. Her hands were shaking and the scraping sound of metal against metal scratched the air. When Guido tried to take over Sabrina scowled at him. Taking a deep breath the dark haired human steadied her hand in front of her and went back to the task. Elaria had to stop her foot from tapping impatiently, knowing that the woman already felt hostility at her presence. Finally the _click_ they were waiting for sounded and Sabrina motioned for them to wait as she went through to the next room.

"Anticipation certainly gets the blood pumping, does it not?" Guido's whisper was surprising close to her ear, for someone who'd been in front of her only seconds earlier. She involuntarily gasped with shock, trying to sidle under his encircling arms but he was much too quick for her. In one spinning motion he had her facing him.

"You are a very persistent man," she murmured still trying to push away. When he began to chuckle she could hear the deep sound resonating in his chest. His light brown hair had been braided back, leaving only one strand to frame his delicately featured face. She had to stop herself from tucking it behind his ear, knowing that he would take the gesture as something much more than intended. When his breathy laugh ended she felt his eyes rove over her face and his grip tighten around her waist. _Don't look at him, don't look at him, don't look at him, _she chanted internally, but when his hand moved from her waist to under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, she did not fight. Hairs began standing up on the back of her neck as her eyes traced the tattooed lines curving their way up his snowy skin, over the peaks of his cheekbones and towards his eyes. _Maker, those eyes are too much,_ burning amber orbs regarded her, greedy with lust. His face was coming closer now and she could read the intention in his every movement; his hands coming up to stroke her cheek, his tongue darting over his teeth. Before she could begin to struggle against his kiss a tingling rushed over her. Guido leapt backwards, holding his lip, a look somewhere between surprise and curiosity on his face.

"Did you _shock_ me?" he gasped as the scent of lightening faded. Before she could respond a sharp cough made them both turn. Though Sabrina was silhouetted by a roaring fire behind her, Elaria could still see her unimpressed expression, lit by the light of the moon.

"Come on," she hissed and they both moved quickly into the firelight.

The room stank of neglect, the scent of the fire burning the damp, cobweb strewn chimney mingled with the undertone of mouldy food. It had obviously once been a kitchen, heavy iron pans and rusted utensils hung from the walls. An elderly woman sat stoking the newly made flames. When she stood to greet them her knees trembled and cracked and her wizened face wrinkled in pain.

"Sabrina has told me why you are here," the woman began to grin, revealing a mouth devoid of teeth. Elaria bristled, this had not been part of their plan, but before she could berate Sabrina the elderly woman began to laugh; a strange dry sound, like parchment being torn. "Do not fear, I wish to help you."

"And how do you mean to do that? Can you even hold a knife, old woman?" Guido snorted.

"Obnoxious churl," she hissed in response. "Blades are not the only way to kill a man." She began patting down her grubby dress with slow deliberate movements, when she heard a jangling sound she grinned up at them. Slowly she extracted a hoop of keys from an unseen pocket and handed them to Sabrina. "I am the Despot's housekeeper. I have seen and been silent for much too long, these eyes should be blind with horror but still they persist and see." She turned from them, back into the warm light of the fire. "Those keys will open every door in this house, it is the only action I am able to take, but it will speed your way. The sooner that man dies the sooner these old bones can rest." A sigh found its way up from ancient lungs. "Go," she whispered, still refusing to look at them, "before there is any more...suffering."

Elaria lingered for a moment after the other two had left, curiosity and empathy rooting her where it did not the others. "Thank you," the Warden murmured and the crooked elder span around to face her. Before either could speak again Guido's head poked round the small archway.

"Come on," he beckoned. Elaria, nodding her thanks again, followed his voice.

The hallway was almost a tunnel, so dark and close that Elaria wondered how they weren't underground. Her night eyes had been completely destroyed by the intensity of the fire so she traced her finger tips over the damp brickwork. When they turned a corner she could see the faint silhouettes of the two Crows in front of her and knew that they must be nearing some light. Sabrina halted suddenly before them.

"This is the inhabited part of the manor, we must be careful," she explained in an undertone. Slowly and deliberately she moved out of the darkness, pressing her back against the wall, Guido and Elaria followed.

A grand hallway dazzled and glinted in the silvery light, the rich blue carpet stopped any sound of footsteps. Two grand stairways curved upwards to the second floor. The place was utterly deserted, the atmosphere thick with silence. Realising this Sabrina began to move, quickly and assuredly, ignoring the stairs, heading towards an oaken doorway between them. Elaria and Guido followed. The female crow scrabbled with the key's, the jingling sound being so much louder for it being the only one, then suddenly Elaria was sure that it was no longer alone. She grabbed Sabrina's arm to stop the noise and hear more clearly.

"Let go of me," the female Crow whispered but when the elf made a motion that suggested she listen, Sabrina did so. The whistling was becoming louder now and the first spurts of torchlight came into view as it spluttered down the stairs. Sabrina put her palm up, a signal for them to wait here and walked confidently towards the light. Elaria wanted to leave cover to pull her back when Sabrina just stood there, right in the oncoming path of the torchlight. Guido's hand stopped her, it was too late; the guard had seen her.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing up so late," he grunted and when she didn't reply he came closer. "Escaped from ol' Despots harem, have you?" The man was dressed in full plate, his voice accented with the slurs of drink. "Wait a minute," he hiccupped throwing the torch higher in the air to examine her. "You're a bit well developed for..." he never finished the sentence; blood was too busy pouring out of his throat for words to form. Sabrina had not made a sound as she'd drawn her dagger and the soundlessness continued when she sheathed it. The guard slumped to the floor, like a bag of flesh. Sabrina searched his corpse. Upon finding nothing of value she kicked out his torch and, for good measure, aimed a boot at his body.

Elaria had questions burning in her mind as the female Crow went back to finding the key. Part of her did not want answers, fearing that soon enough she would find them. Finally a key fitted into the lock and Sabrina slowly turned it. Elaria and Guido both drew their weapons.

Cool night air hit their faces as Sabrina slowly pulled the door inwards. Elaria thanked the Maker for well oiled hinges as she followed Guido outside. Two torches burnt brightly on either side of the entranceway, illuminating half of the courtyard. The three of them readied for an attack that did not come. Spinning around Elaria saw why. The two guards stationed at either side of the door were still there, standing as they had been when they'd met their death. Feathers protruded from two well placed arrows that had found identical slats in identical steel armour, completely penetrating through ribs, lungs and hearts until finally burying itself in the masonry behind them. The faint noise of fabric against skin made Elaria leap to face it.

"You're late," Isabela grinned stepping into the light of the torches. Then suddenly there were faces all around them, hovering in the darkness, male and female, elven and human, all wearing the distinctive leather armour of the Crows. Elaria could not help but smile at the sight, her heart pounding in expectation of battle.

"Let's get going then."

Elaria was the first to reach the doors pushing them open before her, Guido and Isabela at her side. Another guard stood with a torch, examining the body of the first. He jumped as they entered the room, dropping the fire and pulling the greatsword off his back. When the cell of Crows bristled in behind them, he dropped his sword and looked as though he were about to shout. Arrows flew either side of Elaria's head, one finding his exposed throat, the other his groin. The man clawed at his neck, still desperately trying to scream. Blood bubbled from his mouth and nose. He was a corpse by the time they reached him.

For such a large group they ascended the stairs in relative silence, shrouded under rougish magic. When Elaria felt their darkness wash over her it woke something inside her. For a second the world was very different, tinged with a familiar green smokiness in which she stood completely alone. She shook her head until the colours of solitude bled out. Her heart tripled its beat. Adrenaline rushed through her.

At the top of the stairs a set of double doors greeted them, with long corridors stretching off either side. Guido pushed and the swung open happily. She stepped into the room behind him, the pommels of her daggers finding her palms.

None of the five guardsmen were Crows, there armour was too heavy, there movement too sloppy. As Elaria's blade found the back of a knee she decided that they were mercenaries. All the men she'd seen so far wore the same armour, emblazoned with a burning tree. Guido finished the man off with a quick stab to the left of his throat, blood gurgled from the wound. They turned together, expecting further attacks, only to see several other Crows and Isabela doing the same. Elaria almost laughed. Sabrina quickly began unlocking a door to their left as the other's checked over the bodies. Guido smiled at her as he swept up the coins from the card game the mercenaries had abandoned.

A shout from Sabrina made them all look towards her, as she danced backwards a dagger in her hand. More of the guards were pouring in from the doorway, several of their archers aimed arrows at the group inside and Elaria had to duck and dive to reach Sabrina's side. The Crows fired back in response as their front lines broke against each other. She swooped out of the way as a longsword flew where her head had just been, she kept her body low to avoid the shield bash that came after it, rolling to flank the steel shod man as he overextended his feet. He took a moment to right himself but that was all she needed, Duncan's dagger quickly found the straps of his breast plate digging two swift but deep wounds into his back. When the sword swung to meet her torso, once again, she was not there. The pommels of her daggers clashed on either side of his steel helmet and whilst the man was stunned she took the opportunity to slit his throat.

Looking around for her next opponent she spied Isabela, two of the guardsmen in front of her, a wild smile on her face as she blocked all their attempts. Elaria took a step towards her and suddenly she felt the world shift. Once again she was in the Fade. She could feel, smell and hear the Black City, the strong pull of temptation, the constant overture of demonic voices. And then, it was gone. Though she did not remember moving across the room she was now behind the guards facing Isabela. Ignoring the queasiness in her stomach and the sudden heaviness in her arms she gave a roar, whirling her blades before her, cutting through armour and flesh. One of the men howled as he turned to face her, slicing and slashing at the empty air. Elaria dived and rolled under his attacks, bringing her blades up against him every time she did so. Once she misjudged the timing of his swing and she turned her head mid roll to see his sword inches from her leg. Bracing herself for the pain she shut her eyes. It did not come. When she peaked out of the blackness the Veil had once again descended. It left as abruptly as it came and Elaria found herself on the floor having to leap under an oncoming blow.

"Fucking freak," the man spat, blood pouring from between his armour as his angry hacks began to take their toll. Elaria dived out of the way and clambered to her feet. _Shit, where are my daggers?_ The flat of his sword crashed against her left arm, deadening it, she ducked under the follow up blow that would have severed her head from her shoulders.

"Stop moving," he grunted as Elaria ducked once again under his swing. Noticing her blade shining between his legs she dived towards him. Grabbing the pommel, she kicked his feet out from under him in, locking her legs around his. Before he could get to his feet Elaria stabbed through the flexible material at his heel, severing his tendons. The scream he let out didn't last long, Elaria never liked to leave her prey in pain.

Wiping the blood from her boots onto the carpet, staining it a deep rich purple, she looked around. The fight was pretty much over. Isabela was busy checking the pockets of the dead, blood spattered all over her face. A few of the Crows were still dispersing the archers in the adjoining corridor. Guido and Sabrina were at the side of a young Crow, who'd taken an arrow to the gut. When Elaria came towards them she had to hold her breath at the stench. The boy could have been no more than fifteen, his cheeks still covered with a smattering of acne scars, a wispy attempt at a beard stubbled his face. Elaria knew his death would not be clean just by the smell. When the bile of the gut poisoned the blood there was usually very little even a healer could do.

"He's beyond help, do him a kindness," she suggested. Sabrina gave her a foul look and Elaria shrugged her shoulders. She wondered what exactly she'd done to offend the woman but found that she cared very little.

"Sweet thing, over here," Isabela called motioning with her hand. Elaria quickly left the Crows to it, moving to the side of her friend who gave her a dashing smile. "Look what I found," Isabela almost sang, pressing a wad of papers into her hands. "They look important." Elaria turned the parchments over, moving them towards the light. The dark blue seal was still intact and she frowned as her fingers lightly traced the emblem.

"This is the Wardens seal," her voice was barely audible as her eyes met Isabela's. Pulling out her dagger she tore the wax quickly from the papers. Her eyes scanned over the page.

"Bastards."

"What's wrong?" Isabela asked in the same undertone.

"It's written in cipher," Elaria's eyes narrowed.

"Can you break it?"

"It'll take a good few hours but perhaps," the Warden sighed. With a heavy heart she put the documents into the pocket of her breastplate. "Nothing we can do now," she said eyeing their companions who seemed ready to move on.

Someone, if not Sabrina, had taken her advice on the young recruit. Gore pooled and splattered around him and the other corpses, Crows and mercenaries alike as the two women leapt over the stains deftly, bringing up the rear of the now much smaller cell.

The corridor beyond was lined with doors and the Crows crowded around Sabrina as she fumbled with the keys. Elaria and Isabela pushed their way through to the front. There was an impatient tension as another key was tried and failed. The Warden could see the pressure mounting on Sabrina's shoulders, if the Crow had been anyone else Elaria would have stepped in by now, but it was obvious that the woman did not _want_ to be helped. Rouges around the edge of the group began to bristle, paranoid that they were sitting ducks at the end of the long space. When the door finally opened Elaria had to suppress a cheer.

"Maker give me strength," Sabrina gasped her voice thick with horror as she crept into the room. Elaria felt a cold tingle breathe up her spine when she ducked in after her. One candle lit the scene, guttering and almost going out as the other's followed them into the tight space. Crammed together, chained and bound, naked and shivering lay elven children, beyond count in the dim light. As one they began to scream, the noise was heart wrenching; some of them pleaded in Elven, some were tugging at the chains that bound them to the wall, but most shrieked incoherent words.

Elaria was overcome. She had seen such cruelty before but she never managed to get used to it. Her companions were as helpless as she. Sabrina was doubled over as though she'd been psychically hit, her cries mingling with the children's wails. Isabela had a look of astonishment Elaria had never seen on her face before. Guido was the first to act.

"Silence," he roared over the wails. The children were too scared to argue and soon the noise abated, only to be punctuated by the occasional whimper or sniff. "Crows, guard the door, there's no way that wasn't heard." He grabbed the candle stick as they swept out, moving swiftly to the nearest child. The boy shuffled away from him, putting up his malnourished arm as though to block a blow.

"It's alright," Guido reassured, putting the candle on the floor. "We're here to help you." The boy's thin eyebrows wrinkled, as though he did not understand the words, still shying away from the new comers. Guido sighed, looking up at the three remaining women. "Help me," he hissed up at them and Elaria quickly moved to his side.

When Guido produced a lock pick the boy's eyes widened in fear. He began trying to kick out at them, despite the thick irons that bound his legs. The others picking up on his distress began to scream and cry. Elaria ducked under a kick and moved to the boy's side.

"Ssssh," she breathed, putting both her palms up. When she moved her hand slowly towards his head he flinched but did not move. Black wiry hair was knotted and tangled but she did the best she could to stroke him, making comforting noises. It took a while but soon he rested his head against her hand and she shuffled on her knees closer to him. He had stopped kicking now, all his attention was focused on her and she smiled warmly down at him.

"Atisha da'len," she comforted and tears began to well in his eyes. Guido was careful as he twisted the boy's foot so the lock of the manacle faced the candle light. Elaria could see angry marks where the metal had bit into skin. Soon the heavy iron clanged on the floor and the boy swiftly slid his legs away from Guido.

"We got company," a shout rang from the corridor and the children began to whisper in fear.

"Guido, stay here and free the rest. Sabrina," the woman looked at her for the first time, her eyes still red from tears. "Help him," she indicated Guido. "Isabela, with me," she instructed. Without waiting for a response she stalked into the hallway. A new desire burned within her. _I will kill every one of these bastards_

The fight had broken some way down the corridor. Isabela was at Elaria's side as they weaved past their own arbalests and arrowman and into the fray. The battle was a blur. Blood and guts sprayed in every direction as the women danced through the mercenaries. Elaria felt herself moving in the fade, but it came in spurts and bursts she could not control. Occasionally lightening would shiver over her, swelling and peaking at the tip of her blades. She took a heavy blow to the back of her head and though lights danced before her eyes she rolled to her feet, blocking and clashing her blades against plate and skin and steel. It seemed endless. Time was an illusion. Just when she thought she could not take anymore she spun to find the make-shift battle field strewn with corpses and half corpses, limbs and entrails, but thankfully no more enemies.

Sheathing her swords she wiped her brow, only to smear more blood on top of the sweat and gore already there. As she picked her way over the bodies Isabela fell in line.

"What's happening to you?" the captain whispered frantically.

"The fade is coming back."

"Ellie," Isabela grabbed her arm and spun the elf to face her. "Is this going to be safe?"

"I don't know," Elaria sighed. "Later," she whispered her hand on the door to the children's jail.

The two Crows had done what they could for the children, their shackles were free but they huddled together, their faces wan and haunted beyond their years. Elaria had seen such desperate fear far more times that she would like to recall but it still made a whirlwind of emotion rise in her chest.

"What are we going to do with them?" Guido asked as Elaria tried to pace away her anger.

"Some of the Crows will have to escort them to Ignacio, perhaps he can find their clan," shrugged Elaria. Sabrina looked as though she was about to argue but when the Warden narrowed her eyes her mouth shut abruptly. "Isabela, choose six of Ignacio's men that you trust, give them their orders."

"Sweet thing, there are only eight of them left," Elaria stopped, there had been at least fifteen when they'd arrived. _How have we lost so many._

"Send them all back," she demanded.

"Little dove, is that wise?"

"Do not question my orders," she bit back regretting the tension in her tone as soon as she'd said it. Guido raised an eyebrow but his hungry half smile told her she needn't apologise.

"Who are you to talk to him like that?" hissed Sabrina. Rage did not become the pretty woman's face, exaggerating her swells and bruises. The children began crying again as Sabrina squared up to the lithe elf. Elaria met her gaze unflinchingly. Her hands itched over the pommels of her daggers.

"It's fine, Sabrina, she's right," Guido interjected, sweeping the belligerent Crow away. "Bring the children," he said to Elaria, manoeuvring the still fuming Crow out of the room. Elaria heard Isabela sheath her blades behind her.

"What's her problem?" she asked, putting a reassuring hand on the small of Elaria's back.

"I don't know," the Warden responded, turning towards the children. They shook as one, grimacing when she offered out her hand. "Emma falon," she reassured but still they did not move, the younger ones still whimpering in fear, the elder staring at her with contempt. Suddenly there was a movement in the darkness and the boy who had been freed first shuffled into the light. Standing a foot away from her outstretched hand he gazed at her. Elaria felt his dark eyes shifting over her face. Slowly and cautiously he extended his own grubby hand out to meet hers. The cautious Warden stood as still as possible, worried that any hasty movement would break the boys resolve. She let his tiny fingers clasp around her own before she closed her hand over his. A murmur went up from the group then and another child, a girl no older than four, stumbled towards her. Elaria put a reassuring hand on the girls head and she clung fiercely to the Warden's armoured leg. The trickle turned into a flood as the others moved to her and Isabela's side. Elaria couldn't help but grin at the obvious discomfort of the pirate queen as the young ones grasped at her calloused hands.

When they stepped out into the corridor the young girl next to her shielded her eyes from the moon's shine, it's dim light too much after the darkness of her cell. Guido and Sabrina stood away from the remaining Crows arguing in hushed tones. Elaria couldn't hear any of the words, but when she glanced over Sabrina threw her a poisonous look.

Elaria gave instructions to the remaining Crows; there was some dissent among them which she silenced with a glare. When the Warden took off her cloak and wrapped it round the naked shoulders of the young golden haired girl, the Crows began to do the same, clothing the children with anything unnecessary they wore, cloaking some of them in the garb of their fallen comrades. Before the mismatched group of assassins and children could leave the dark haired boy turned back to her. In this light she could see the piercing blue colour of his eyes, watering with tears.

"Ma serannas," he choked but before she could respond he had swept out behind the others.

The hallway was strangely silent once the group had left, only Sabrina hissing and Guido exasperating could be heard. Elaria shook her head when Isabela's eyes caught hers in a way that asked _shall we just kill her?_ The swarthy pirate rolled her eyes.

"Can't you two kiss and make up? We have a job to do," Isabela grinned at the two Crows. Sabrina's mouth pursed but before she could argue Guido grabbed her arm, pulling her along in his wake.

Investigating the other rooms they found them deserted, other than a few treasures that they quickly pilfered. Elaria lead the way as they double backed on themselves, going through the room littered with dead mercenaries and guards. Sabrina seemed to have composed herself, though Elaria could feel the hysterical woman's eyes burning in the back of her neck.

This hallway was well lit, Elaria ducked low out of the accusing glare of the torches lining the walls. When she heard the distinct sound of muffled voices coming from behind a heavy door she motioned her companions into place before slowly turning the knob.

"You will do as you are ordered or you will be dismissed without pay, is that clear?"

"But Captain, she's a child, a little whip of a girl..."

"Need I remind you how dangerous she is?"

The two men were so intent upon their argument that they didn't notice Elaria, swiftly followed by Isabela, sneak through the gap in the door. Both the men wore the heavy steel plate of the mercenaries, though the short half cape of red velvet marked the Captain.

"It's just...this whole thing skinks if you don't mind my saying so, Ol' Despot..."

"I do mind you saying so. Sirrah Marco is the one who pay's both our wages..."

When Guido breezed into the room he was shadowed so deeply that Elaria had to squint to see him, he crept behind the Captain, just waiting for her signal to strike.

"We used to be able to talk frank, like. Since we took this job it's been no end of trouble. We should never have taken those Dalish children; it's not worth the gold. Despot...Ser Marco...he...I've heard that he..."

"Spit it out."

"That he _takes_ them, the children I mean...like a man should take a woman."

Elaria's stomach gave a nauseating twist. She had heard enough. Giving the signal to Guido she moved to block the other man's escape. A sickening crack rent the air as the tattooed assassin deftly broke the Captains neck. Guido dropped the corpse in disgust, stepping over it as he drew his dagger, pointing it at the terrified man's throat.

"P...p...p...please," he stammered, his eyes wide at the tip of the assassins blade. "I d...d...didn't want to...I've got a family to feed." Guido spat at the mercenaries words.

"Tell us which clan you took the children from and we may let you live," Elaria responded moving into the light of the fire.

"I...I..I don't know...The Green Dales all looks the same to me."

"Kill him." The point of Guido's blade slightly punctured the mercenary's throat, over his bobbing adam's apple.

"Please," he gasped. "I've got a family."

"So did those children," Guido hissed before puncturing his jugular. Blood pulsed over his blade as the man's heart beat the life force out of him. A dark brooding had come across Guido's face as pulled out The Rose's Thorn. He turned to leave. Elaria had to stretch her pace to catch up with him as he strode forcefully down the corridor, all sense of ambush forgotten.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I will be, once this bastard's dead."

Most of the doors opened easily under his touch, though these revealed nothing but endless furniture and dust. Occasionally Sabrina pushed Elaria from his side to open locked doors but these were as fruitless as the unlocked ones. It was only when they reached the last door, hidden by a corner but more ornate than the others, that Elaria was sure they'd found him.

Guido checked once behind him and, drawing his daggers, opened the door. Elaria stared coldly at the horror before her. The largest bed she had ever seen took up the majority of the room, its four posters columned to the ceiling, torn velvet fragments told of curtains that had once shrouded it. The girl upon the bed could have been no older than fourteen, her small puckered breasts and the wisps of black hair between her legs spoke her age. Soft skin was marred by bruising and fresh scars, blood smeared over her thighs and stomach. Three crossbow bolts pierced her body, two through both her wrists, pinning them to the headboard and one between the eyes. Sabrina pushed her way between the two startled elves and upon seeing the girl gave a wretched cry.

"Clara," she screamed stumbling over her grief and towards the bed. Before she could reach it a hand came from the shadows, grasping the woman around her neck. A dark chuckle filled the room as the man stepped into the light.

"Come back for more have you Sabrina?" He pulled the terrified Crow to his chest, his fingers still crushing the breath from her. "And you've brought some friends with you I see."

Elaria had been desperate for this moment since hearing of Despotolli. Something deep inside her had been confident that she'd found the man who'd assaulted her, that this night she might be able to close the book on that chapter of her life, that she might have vengeance. She analyzed him carefully, from his barrel shaped torso sticking out of his wine coloured robe, the coarse black hair that seemed to cover his entire body, those dark leering eyes. Though she found similarities between the two men's countenance, this was not the man who'd raped her. Something broke. Everything flashed before her eyes, the blight, the blood, the betrayal. There was a pain raging within her that for too long she had smouldered, desperately dampened but now it flared, brighter for its containment. When she began to feel herself tearing the Veil involuntarily she tried to fight it but her willpower was quickly drained.

"What the fuck is happening...?"

_Let it consume you, my dear. Let me in. I know your anger, I can feel it, taste it. So raw. Let me in._

The pain was unbearable. Her blood was on fire, boiling, scorching. She could smell burnt flesh. Screaming, somewhere in the distance, loud then quiet. _Is that me? Am I screaming?_ Blackness.

* * *

"You told me he was mine to kill."

"Calm down."

"I won't calm down. Your new whore nearly killed us all."

"Sabrina, please."

The shouting confused Elaria. _It's so warm and peaceful here, how could they possibly be angry?_ When she tried to move her hands to cover her ears the agony flung open her eyes. She could see flecks of dust between the blue hairs of the carpet. _Something's burning,_ she thought trying to go back to that dark comfortable place where there was no shouting or pain. A hand on her forehead stopped her.

"Drink this," a familiar voice that sung of the sea. Hands that she knew as well as her own propped her upwards, holding her head as the glass hit her teeth. The peppery taste of boiled elfroot refreshed her dry mouth, numbing the blazing pain. Isabela's concerned features became clear as her eyes focused.

"What happened?" Elaria managed a blurry haze of death and fire clouding her memory.

"You summoned a demon, _apostate_," Sabrina spat the last word as Isabela helped the wounded elf to her feet. The female Crow was fuming, standing a foot away from the two women, Guido pressing her backwards. The bedchamber was utterly decimated, velvet and carpet smouldered, thick black smoke tinged with the metallic scent of lyrium corroded the air. Behind Sabrina Elaria could see the ashen corpse of Marco Despotolli, his body a charred and ruined wreck though his head was completely untouched, a look of surprise his death mask.

"Sabrina, shut up. Now," Guido warned, holding the woman at arm's length and staring straight into her eyes. None of them expected the slap, least of all Guido. He stared blankly back at Sabrina as she dropped her arm in shock, the red mark of her hand all the more vivid for the paleness of his skin.

"Guido..."

"Get out, Sabrina," his voice a dangerous whisper.

"I'm sorry, Guido... please," she pleaded trying to grab at his arms.

"Do not make me tell you twice."

Sabrina backed away from them; her eye's glinting jealously over the two women before turning on her heel. Predictably, she slammed the door behind her.

"And that's why you should never mix business with pleasure," grinned Isabela, giving Guido a smile dripping with knowledge. "Once they see you with your arse in the air they think they don't have to listen anymore."

"Thanks for your pearls of wisdom."

"Oh, there's much more where that came from, sweet thing."

Elaria ignoring their banter shuffled her aching body over to where the burnt out end of Despotolli smouldered on the carpet. Her rage had been snuffed out. _This may not be the man I wanted to kill, but he has caused as much pain and suffering._ She glanced over to the bed where the blood of the young girl still pooled in thick black puddles. _At least you'll never hurt anyone again._

"We should go little dove, Sabrina will come back here with the rest of Despotolli's cell. If I know her she will try to claim his death for her own, we should get the message out quickly that this is not so."

"Let her have it," Elaria's voice was dry and hoarse. She ignored his hand on her shoulder.

"You do not mean that, my dear. This cell is yours by rights."

"I doubt unintentionally summoning a rage demon counts," she sighed running her hands over her forehead.

"Oh? I think it does," his fingers squeezed the leather of her armour. "Come, let us discuss this somewhere...less smoky and filled with death." Elaria nodded meekly and let her new friend and her old one steer her away from the corpse. Guido was about to shut the door behind them when Elaria felt a familiar tugging in the back of her head.

"Wait," she said disentangling from Isabela's arms she turned around, desperately searching for the direction of the sense.

"What is it little..."

"Sssh," Elaria commanded trying to concentrate. The tugging began pulling her and she strode assuredly towards a large cabinet.

"Help me move this."

"Sweet thing..."

"Little dove..."

"Please, both of you." Her friends looked at one another, and shrugging their shoulders in the wake of her apparent madness began to help her shift the heavy thing. Finally they managed to shuffle it away to reveal a patch of carpet that had been cut and replaced. Elaria grabbed at the large square of blue, flinging it aside to reveal a trapdoor.

"How did you know?" Guido asked. The hinges groaned as Elaria heaved it open.

The stonework at the bottom of the drop began to glow. Elaria felt as though a bolt had hit her in the chest, her will began to drain.

"What was that?"

"It felt like the Rite of Cleansing," Elaria gasped. "Quick, get me a light; I need to see down there." Guido was fast to respond, grabbing a lantern from the bedside table. "Something is not right at all," she murmured, checking to see how long the drop was. The space was so small that Elaria had to get on her hands and knees to explore it. A lantern was passed to her and the dark illuminated. The girl was unconscious, no older than ten, her blonde hair matted with dirt and blood, her bones pressing alarmingly against her skin. The tugging of a tainted presence dragged her closer. Anger, hot and fresh, boiled in the pit of her stomach. _Why would someone do this to a child?_ She thought, desperately shuffling forwards. Pressing her fingers to the girl's neck she was only partly relieved to find a faint fluttering there. She grasped the fragile elf to her chest, careful not to hurt her anymore than she had already been.

"Not another one," Isabela groaned as she clambered back into the room. "Why wasn't she with the others? How did you know she was there?" Guido was at her side, relieving her of the heavy weight in her exhausted arms.

"She's a mage," Elaria took a deep breath. "And a Warden."


	20. Chapter 20

_**AN: I sincerely apologise for the quality of this chapter, my regular proof reader has become very busy what with the start of the new academic year. If anyone would like to help please send me a message, I'm happy to pay in kind or tasty internet cookies. Thanks to everyone for all your continued support! x**_

* * *

Zevran, _The Nymph's Song_

"What is it?"

"I can't see."

"It's really sparkly,"

"Maker's balls it _is _treasure!"

"Pietro, what have I told you about swearing."

The red gems seemed to absorb the flickering light on the healer's palm, glinting in hues somewhere between rubies and garnets. When Sesto turned the necklace over in his hands Zevran was sure he could see a smoky darkness shift within them.

"Let me see."

"It's beautiful."

"I want to hold it."

"May I take a look?" Zevran asked softly under the chorus of voices. The boy closed his palm tightly around the silverite and strange gems.

"I found it, it's mine," his brows furrowed at the elf, dark eyes glaring accusingly.

"I don't dispute that, I would merely like to check it's not dangerous," Zevran patted the boy on the shoulder reassuringly. Though Sesto's eyes narrowed his fingers loosened their tight grip. As the chain pooled in Zevran's hand there was a hush from the crowded children. The necklace was heavier than it looked, each stone no larger than his little finger, like droplets of blood chained together. He slithered the silver across his palm, each gemstone more flawless than the last. On closer examination the jewels did seem to shift as though underneath their stone casing was a thick black smoke aching to escape.

"I've never seen anything like this before," he sighed passing the treasure back to an eager Sesto.

"That means it's worth lots of money!" chimed Pietro knowingly.

"I found the shed, you should share it with me," Anna demanded stamping her foot.

"No way, if he shares it with anyone it's me. I'm his brother _and_ I got us in here," Pietro argued, pushing Anna. They continued shouting and jostling until Vita managed to interpose between the two. Sesto seemed to go quieter the louder other children were, his hand still tight around his find, in contemplation that aged him.

"Sesto?" Zevran had to move closer to the boy so he could hear the elf over the rabble. "It's yours to do with what you will." Sesto met his eyes and Zevran saw something shift behind the boys dark irises.

"Everyone shut up!" Sesto demanded, as one the argument silenced. "I'm going to give it to Aunty Rosa." The silence remained intact as his words began to sink in. Before anyone could move Sesto was on his feet, bowling over his brother and Anna in his bid for the door. By the time the children could react Zevran could hear the boy's footsteps crunching over the brambles outside.

"After him," Pietro cried scrambling to his feet. The children rallied around his howl and stampeded out of the shed. Vita stood for a moment, looking between the two remaining adults and the door. Hiking up her skirts with an apologetic smile, she ran after them.

"Well that's enough excitement for one day," Anders sighed, switching back to his native tongue. "Fancy a drink?"

"I have a favour to ask."

"Oh?" sighed Anders putting out the flame in his hands as they moved into the ribbon like lights of sunset.

"Meet me back here in an hour. Come armed."

* * *

Zevran paced in the darkness, dry roots and thistles crunching under his drakeskin boots. Night had long drawn her veil over the city bringing with her the denizens of darkness. He could hear the revelry and music drifting over the walls. The scent of nightflowers blooming did little to hide the stench of the Pits, stagnant water and piss were sharp overtones to their sweet perfume.

_I knew I couldn't trust that blasted mage, _Zevran thought wearily, wishing he'd never asked for Anders' assistance. Just as he'd resolved to go alone the warm glow from the opening back door flooded into the night, staining it with a bluish hue which remained even when the light had gone. Zevran crossed his arms as Anders approached. _At least he came armed,_ his eyes roved over the stave and he was hit with a blot of recognition.

"That's a wonderful staff, where did you get it?" asked Zevran trying to keep cool under the warmth of his anger.

"Oh," Zevran was sure the mage flinched. "This old thing; had it for years."

"You know it once belonged to the Hero of Ferelden, I presume?"

"Umm...no I didn't."

"You're a terrible liar, Anders."

"Look, did you just ask me out here to berate me or is there actually something you need?" Anders crossed his arms defensively.

"There is a trap door in the outhouse; I thought it pertinent that we explore."

"Why?"

"Let us say perhaps the true owner of those unique gems comes looking for them, yes? Perhaps whatever is under that shed may ready us for those events, yield some form of clue as to who we are dealing with?"

"Alright, alright," Anders groaned. "Come on then."

The mud caked hovel dampened any sound coming from the outside as the two men shuffled in. Anders tapped Heaven's Wrath once on the ground and a crackle of electrical light, whiter than any sun beam, illuminated the dankness around them. Zevran bent slowly to the ground, his recently healed knee giving a crack of complaint. Moving the carpet distastefully aside he quickly found the protrusion of the iron handle. He glanced at Anders before pulling it open.

Endless darkness, heavy and oppressive, seemed to smoke out at them. Cautiously Anders drew the glowing end of his staff towards the hole. A thin vertical drop encased on either side by stone drew the two men to inspect closer. A ladder, aged by the damp but still somewhat intact plunged beyond their sights. Grabbing a piece of wooden debris Zevran dropped it into the hole; it was a couple of seconds before they heard it splat to the ground.

The rogue procured a heavy hemp rope tied to the back of his armour and began knotting it around a sturdy looking cabinet. When he tugged the thing did not move.

"I shall go first, yes?" he suggested tying the rope tightly round his midriff.

"By all means," Ander's scoffed.

Zevran grinned up at him in the eerie harsh light, shuffling his feet in the darkness of the pit to find the first rung. When he did he slowly put more weight on the wood, thinking it would snap any second, when it did not he began his descent. It was slow moving, every step his feet ghosted into the blackness hoping for something solid beneath them. Once he had to stretch his entire body into the void, clinging desperately to the untrustworthy frame until he finally found his footing. After a metre or so he began to sense the space around him open up, the sound of his descent echoing and bouncing off the stones. When his foot touched the muddy floor it caught him by surprise and he almost fell backwards.

"I'm down," he shouted back up righting himself. Untying the rope from his waist he waited as Anders pulled it up.

Zevran had often heard rumours of a network of ancient tunnels. Some said they were built during the Black Age under the reign of Queen Asha; that they extended all the way from the Royal Palace under every Quarter in Antiva so that the Mother of Thedas could go where she wanted, without prying eyes seeing. Others shrugged these tales off, declaring they were no such tunnels and if there were they were only old sewers used by vermin like rats and Crows. Zevran knew that they were real and, as the glowing form of Anders found his way to the ground, the elf was positive that they'd found them.

"Makers breath, it's huge," Anders gasped, brandishing the staff towards the ceiling in an attempt to find it. The tunnels seemed to have been hewn by something other than man. Zevran could feel the rough edges as he traced them with the tips of his finger. In the light of the staff tiny flecks glinted red, more vivid for the blackness of the stone they were embedded in.

"Bring the light lower," Zevran instructed and as Anders did so he saw two distinct pair of footprints, one leading away from the ladder and one leading too. The undisturbed air had almost petrified them into the mud and as the elf delicately trod around them he could make out that they were from the same boot, too small to be a human's step.

"An elf, light of foot, came here and left almost immediately," he said kneeling and motioning for Anders to bring the staff closer. "It's difficult to say how long ago, no less than a month."

"I guess we follow them."

Awkwardly the two men moved around the marks, Anders keeping his torch low, trying to stop the knife like stone from tearing the fur on his robe, Zevran staying in front on the outskirts of the light, crouched low. The tunnel was gradually descending, twisting and turning deeper into the earth, the walls closing in around them until the taller mage had to duck his head. When the glow from Anders staff distorted in front of them, no longer blocked by stone on either side, Zevran halted. Their tunnel came to an abrupt end in a large cavernous junction, slightly higher than ground level. Anders cast the light beneath them and they could see tunnels leading off in every direction of varying height and breadth. Zevran listened for a moment and upon hearing nothing but the slow dripping of water, swiftly climbed down, Anders following without as much grace.

The elf had trodden quickly and assuredly here, their light step forgotten in haste, their stride slightly longer than Zevran's comfortable walking pace. The men followed the tracks in silence, across the middle of the junction. Both sets of steps ignored much larger entrances and exits, heading straight towards a thin crack in the rock which even the lithe assassin had to squeeze into.

Their pace was much slower in the cramped coffin like space. The closeness made it difficult to descend but deeper and deeper they went in the seemingly endless dark. The footsteps were less distinct, the mud replaced by the strange burnt rock all around them. When they came to a fork in the tunnels Zevran stopped.

"Braska, the trail's gone cold," he spun around, desperately trying to find a mark somewhere but the cold hard stone yielded nothing.

"We haven't come all this way to just go back, we'll check both if we have to," Anders said reassuringly, taking the closest tunnel. "Come on." Zevran trailed after the light, despondency clouding his thoughts.

As the tunnel expanded Zevran noticed that the tiny flecks of red in the stone had become larger. Here and there thin veins of the scarlet stone ran across the smoke coloured rock, forking outward, like rivers.

"Maker," Anders gasped stopping so abruptly that the elf almost bowled into him. Righting himself Zevran turned to see what Anders was staring at. The heavy black rocks had formed over the tunnel blocking their path. The ruby deposits had moved like thick roots over the stone and it seemed in this strange light, to create a face. When it moved, both men leapt backwards.

Two huge gemstones that were its eyes grumbled open as rocks shifted against each other. It sounded like an earthquake. When Zevran remembered to take a breath it was thick with the taste of lyrium. The noise did not stop and both men covered their ears in protest of its reverberations. As the groaning went on the more the assassin was sure that the rock was _speaking._

_Blood. Blood. Blood._

Anders' grasped the elf's arm when he drew his dagger, shaking his head, but Zevran brushed him off.

_Blood. Blood. Blood._

Moving closer to the face, trying to ignore the grumbling that stunned his mind, he lightly brushed the sharp blade across the back of his forearm. Anders' arm was on his shoulder but the mage was not strong enough to pull him away. He pressed his bleeding arm against the rock and was shocked to find that instead of cold hard stone, it felt like warm, soft flesh. The silence that followed was complete but for the ringing in his ears.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to give your blood to creepy faces in the stone," Anders whispered.

"I killed my mother with my birth," Zevran snorted but before he could further retort the beginnings of the rumbling started again. This time his mind was tuned into the frequency of the rock and he heard the voice immediately.

_Crow. Crow. Crow._

And with swiftness unexpected from stone, the pathway cleared, disappearing into the darkness as though the rock were no more than smoke.

"Blood magic," Anders hissed as the tingling sensation of lyrium caught in the back of their throats. "We should tread carefully."

With a flick of his hand Anders tore the Veil. Usually healing filled Zevran with warmth, but as the magic began to stitch his wounds together he found himself shuddering. Flashes of moments he'd spent in the clutches of Rinna and how corrupt the breaking of the Veil had felt were indelibly linked to even the pure healing of Anders' magic.

"Zevran?" Anders' voice was no more than a sigh in front of him and though the assassin had treated the mage with nothing but cold courtesy, there was a lilt of concern in the way he said Zevran's name.

"I'm fine," he lied, gulping down the burning nausea that tried creeping upwards. "Let's go."

They had only gone a few more steps when Zevran flung out his arm stopping the mage. A noise was echoing from somewhere in front of them, a clanging sound like metal striking metal punctuated with a haunting wail. _Someone whistling, _he realised and made signals for Anders to halt as he shrouded himself in shadow and moved towards the sound.

The mouth of the tunnel opened out high above the mine beyond, a set of well worn stairs had been painstakingly carved into the rock, plummeting downwards. Huge wooden pillars the size of tree trunks supported the weight of the ceiling. Taking up almost a whole wall of the cavern was a thick vein of the precious red metal they had seen all over the tunnels, a rickety set of wooden scaffolding erected around it. A fire, huge and bright illuminated nearly every corner of shadow. The smith stood over his anvil, a burning white sword lay upon it as he hammered the blade into shape. His whistling was a tuneless sound, the peaks and pitches exaggerated by the cavern around him. Zevran moved silently.

The man was shirtless in the heat of the flame, his huge muscles flexing as he drew his arm up in a practiced precise arch. From the bottom of the stairs the assassin could see burns and scars littering the man's chest like a map. His skin was whiter than any Zevran had ever seen, almost translucent making the red mars all the more vivid. When the man abruptly stopped his work the elf was sure his eyes found his in the dark, though the smith only raised an eyebrow. Plunging the sword into a vat of water it smoked and hissed in protest of the heat.

"Verina, is that you skulking in the shadows?" his voice was gruff and hoarse. "Just come out and we can talk about this." His eyes roved around the cabin, looking past Zevran as the elf shifted lower. When the man shrugged it sent ripples across his strong chest. "Have it your way."

The smith was about to turn back to his work when the sound of a footstep echoed from the tunnel and around the room._ Damn it, Anders._

"Who's up there?" There was no note of panic in the man's voice as he folded his arms across his chest, cocking his white haired head to one side. Zevran took a gamble and stepped out of the shadow. The warrior surveyed the rogue for a second before his face split into a grin.

"Welcome, stranger," he nodded his head at the assassin, extending out a hand large enough to crush Zevran's skull. "Blasius Kantos, though everyone calls me Greymane. What brings you down here? We don't get many visitors."

Zevran surveyed Greymane's hand cautiously. _Contact poison perhaps? Why bother though, he could rip me apart with his bare hands._

"Cautious fellow aren't you?" Greymane laughed, dropping his hand to his side. "You can tell your friend to come down now, I won't bite." His beared face split into an even larger grin, revealing broken and blackened teeth.

"Aren't you scared? We could be here to kill you, old man," Zevran hissed. Greymane's laughter doubled, the sound booming around the empty cavern.

"If you meant us harm Luna's door would have crushed you," he smiled heartily. "Ah here he comes," he grinned up at Anders. "Greetings, Sirrah mage."

"What are you doing here?" asked Zevran as Anders clambered down the stone stairs.

"I could ask you the same question," Greymane guffawed. "Come let us talk over some wine." He turned his back on the two men, taking long strides into a makeshift hut made of pallets of wood. Anders looked as confused as he shuffled next to the fire.

"We should be on our guard," Zevran whispered. "He could be stalling for back up."

"Why would he do that? If I was his size I'd give it a go."

"Just keep nodding like you understand him."

"Hey, my Antivan's not that bad," Ander's elbowed him the side and Zevran narrowed his eyes at the familiarity of the touch.

Greymane returned with a skin of what smelt like vinegar, seating himself cross legged in front of the fire he took a swig then offered it in turn to his guests.

"It's not good but it does the job," he grimaced and Zevran shook his head, Anders following suit. "So what brings you two young lads down here, eh? Looking for treasure?" When he got no response the old man sighed. "Sit down, the pair of you; you're making the place look untidy."

Before either of the two men could respond Greymanes eyes narrowed, focused behind their heads. Zevran spun around, his hands twitching over the daggers at his back.

"Ah Lucien, it's been a while," Greymane stood as the man stepped out of the shadows. He was taller than any elf Zevran had ever seen; his limbs long and graceful. The black of his armour contrasted with his white hair and skin, the same eerie translucent colour as Greymane's, as though sun had never kissed it.

"I have orders to bring these two guests before our Lady," the elf's face was a solemn blank page.

"Why don't you sit, have a drink with us," Greymane smiled, striding over to the looming elf and putting a beefy hand on his slender shoulder. Lucien's cool blue eyes looked at where the old man touched him with the same empty stare. "Or not," he said, removing his hand quickly as though it had burnt. "Let me come with you at least?"

"You are banished until you find the thief," said Lucien and Greymane let out a heavy sigh.

For the first time the gangling elf surveyed the two men, his cold eyes betraying no hint of emotion.

"Come, it would not do to keep our Lady waiting."

* * *

These people had made a home for themselves, deep under the city. Banners matched the colours of the stone walls they hung upon, seeming to extend the black and red onto the fabric. The same black hand that was depicted on the flowing fabric was painted on every door they past, the number '13' scarred in spidery writing on the palms. Every person they saw nodded their heads in greeting at Lucien, their eyes widening when they saw the two men trailing behind him, though none of them said a word. Men, women, elves and even dwarfs, all they saw, wearing the same armour as the man leading them, some with hair whiter than even Lucien's, though all had the transparent unmarked skin.

"Who are they?" Anders voice was a desperate whisper in Zevran's ear.

Though Zevran shook his head he could not help but feel suspicion creeping up his spine._ Everyone say's the thirteenth cell is just a myth, but what if..._

"We are here," Lucien stopped in front of a pair of double doors, intricately carved with hands clasping one another. Either side of the doorway the veins of red ran deep, Zevran could have sworn they were glowing. "Do not lie to her," the white elf advised, "she will certainly know."

The heavy red wood opened at Lucien's light touch and he gestured for them to go ahead. When Zevran stepped beyond the threshold he was surprised to find plush Orlesian carpet softening his footfall. The air was thick with a sweet smoke that plumed its freedom out into the corridor. A woman as pale as moonlight was enthroned at the end of the decadent room, the same banners that decorated the tunnels hung either side of the ironwork chair. Robes as white as her hair fluttered around her as she descended from her dais. The door closed behind Anders with a creek.

"I have been expecting you for some time Zevran Arainai," her voice was like syrup poured over thunder, soft yet deep and resonant. The Kings Tongue flowed from her lips elegantly, accented with the lilting overtones of Antiva. Grey eyes shifted past the elf and to his companion. "You Anders are most unexpected, though I welcome you none the less."

"How did you..."

"I did not need your blood to know of your deeds Zevran, though your perspective on these events was certainly...interesting," a faint half smile played about her bloodless lips as she moved closer to pair who were rooted in surprise.

"Who are you?" Zevran managed. When the woman laughed it was a high pitch cackle that took them both off guard.

"I think you know that by now," she breathed.

"You're Crows," he answered.

"Tsk, tsk," when she shook her head her silvery hair danced in the firelight. "We are much more than Crows, we are the Thirteenth Cell."

The silence that followed was dense. Zevran's head pounded and his knee began to ache.

"Your friend looks confused, perhaps you should explain to him."

"The thirteenth cell is a myth..."

"Oh?" she arched a perfectly white eyebrow

"Supposedly a cell of Crows who specialise in... forbidden arts."

"As though killing has rules," the woman grinned at Anders.

"You're blood mages?"

"Indeed and a hundred other things your Circle would label us," she scoffed. "Since our establishment we have stayed underneath the city, out of the Chantry's jurisdiction, no more than a rumour." She turned away from them and floated to a brazier, pulling back the lace sleeves of her robe and warming her hands over the flame. "It is good that you have come at such a time," she murmured the flickering of the fire high in her eyes, "things have become...difficult for our brethren on the surface and I'm sure we all have our roles to play in that enduring drama." A long low sigh escaped her lips, "but before we speak of such dreary events, I have a favour to ask you...both of you."

"And in return?" Zevran questioned moving closer to the fire.

"Knowledge," she grinned. "There are paths in the Fade where time becomes immeasurable, what was, is and can be, exist in one space. Down these old roads I am granted acorns of the future, whether they grow to oaks I cannot say, but nevertheless they are... possible branches."

"And you have dreamt of me," Zevran breathed, this time her laughter was as soft as silk.

"Perhaps."

"What is it you need?" asked Anders.

"Simply for you to return something that belongs to me," she drifted away from the heat of the fire, motioning for them to follow. "These stones around us, do you know what they are?" She traced long white fingers over the scarlet scars in the rock. They seemed to respond to her touch, the dark swirling smoke shifting deep inside the stone. Zevran shook his head slowly. "There is a tale that once a fearsome dragon made its roost in these caverns, long before the city of Antiva was built. It is said that a great many men, mage and warriors alike attempted to defeat the beast though none were successful. One day a Witch from deep in the wilds of Seleny, came and yearned for the fame of defeating the dragon. For years they fought, turning the lush verdant lands to the west into drylands with their flame and ferocity. When they were both near death, deep in these catacombs, they came to an agreement. Piercing the Veil for the last time the Witch immortalised them both, turning them to stone." The blood mage let her story sink in for a while, the silence growing around the three of them.

"That is a remarkable story, though I fear it did not answer his original question," Zevran said, ever to the point.

"These veins of rock you see are just that, once vessels for carrying the blood of the great beast. The necklace that your boy found are the most flawless of these droplets, first mined when my dwarfs discovered the Blood Diamonds. It is...extremely precious to me."

"How does somebody gifted with the art of foresight manage to lose something so precious?"

"These things are not always clear," she did not seem to be angered by Zevran's quip. "Prophecy is like a whore, sometimes you forget you're paying for her good graces and mistake them for truths." Once again her laugh was finely crafted, flowing around the two men like perfume.

"Sesto is quite attached to his treasure; it is him you should truly be bargaining with," Zevran admitted shrugging his shoulders.

"Upon receipt of the necklace I will bequeath the child more gold than he can spend in a lifetime," she answered. "And for bringing me this knowledge I will tell you of my dreams." Every move she made was though she weighed nothing, effortlessly she floated, gracefully she sat, motioning for them to join her.

Zevran was unsure; part of him did not _want_ to know what was coming, did not _want_ the knowledge the Crow Master offered. Already he was exhausted by fate's changeable tide, wishing he could be free of her treacherous peaks and troughs.

"The pieces have already begun to move, Zevran, being fearful will not stop them," she whispered her harsh notes stabbing through him. "Come, sit," she sighed more gently this time.

Though parts of his mind were screaming for him to run, his feet moved forwards slowly. He was aware of Anders behind him, taking signals, moving at the same cautious pace. They sat opposite her, her cool grey eyes surveying them both for a long time before she closed them; her white hands gripped the arms of her chair as they felt the Veil shift around them.

"I walk a long road, dark and slippery with blood, blacker than the sky above, shadows move around me." Her voice became almost melodic as she spoke. "When I look down I have talons instead of hands, wings instead of fingers and I fly, climbing higher and higher until I am above the night. I see other birds, crows and griffins, revelling in innocent blood, until the clouds part and a flame; gold and scarlet scorches them to ash. I see a dead crow die to be reborn anew with fur in place of feathers. Bedecked in spears and arrowheads she flies, vengeance at her heels, killing all in her wake, her tiger's eye cast to the ground, searching, seeking. I see a tainted one, severed in half but still breathing, crawling and gasping and learning to walk, dark wings begin to sprout from its back and she too, takes flight. I feel a deep and sudden fear as they soar parallel. When tiger's eyes spy her flight the world begins to shake and I am woken." Her head slumped to her chest as she finished speaking, silvery strands of hair covering her face. For a long time the only sound to be heard was the crackling of flames.

"Are all prophecies clouded in such dripping metaphor?" said Zevran disdainfully, finally unable to keep his composure. Her head snapped up, grey eyes opening to regard him coolly.

"There is knowledge there for those with eyes to see it," her eyes drifted to Anders. "Your friend seems to realise how poignant these visions are." Anders did indeed seem drawn, deep in thought focussed on his lap, unable to meet the eyes of either of his companions.

"Whatever will be, will be," she sighed when Anders did not respond. "But Zevran, you must steel your heart, do not let your past inhibit what only you can do."

"And what exactly is that?"

"To kill her that you have already killed."


	21. Chapter 21

_Elaria – Crow Quarter_

Elaria was bored. She had walked every centimetre of the varnished wooden floor in the apartment, sat in every chair, and tested the sharpness of every displayed weapon. A silent elf had brought her food, barely even looking at her let alone answering questions. The dusty books in the sparse library enticed her with their titles but when she plucked them off the shelves and began to read her thoughts drifted. She had tried breaking the cipher of the letter bearing the Warden's seal but even that could not distract her. _Where in the Black City are they?_

The Warden Child slept the night and day that had passed since Guido and Isabela left them. Her breathing was tight and shallow; coming in choking gasps in between moments of silence which left Elaria's heart fluttering. Ignacio's healer had come that first dawn but declaring that the girl was in no immediate danger she had left and not returned. The Warden had learnt much about healing on the road and did what she could to keep the girl comfortable. She found it difficult to watch her sleep; it was not the serene slumber of a child but the haunted tense nightmare of a Grey mage. Whenever she looked at those golden eyebrows drawn together with intensity Elaria felt a sick rage pooling in her stomach. _Why did Despotolli do this? _Answers sprung to mind, each more cruel and painful than the last. _I need a drink._

She rose from the armchair she had drawn to the child's bed, closing the door of the small room behind her. Walking past the open doorway of the master bedroom and turning a corner, the corridor opened up into an antechamber. Mendez had obviously been a lover of purple, lilac curtains, byzantine rugs even the portraits had been tinged with the colour. Assuming the dead man wouldn't begrudge her a drink she poured herself an exceptionally large glass of brandy. Guido had lit a fire yesterday just as dawn broke before he and Isabela hastily left. Elaria had fed the flame out of boredom and now the room was hot and close. Unlocking two Orlesian doors that led onto a balcony she stepped outside.

She smiled as the night air hit her skin breathing in its crisp coolness, a moments respite in a country of heat and sweat. From this high peak she could see all of Antiva, torches glared along every street in the Crow Quarter, winding scars of light in the darkness. Though this part of the city was seemingly deserted she could hear music and crowds down the cobbled streets. Strange constellations twinkled above her but when she began to trace them she felt a heavy sadness in the pit of her stomach. _Are you out there somewhere, Zevran? _Even the thought of his name seared through her more painful than any psychical wound she had endured. Taking a long gulp on her brandy she tried to think of anything else but the elf was as persistent in her thoughts as he was in reality. _In truth, for a chance to be by your side I would storm the dark city itself. Never doubt it._ She breathed deeply at the savage and conflicting emotions that the thought of those words brought.

_But he left you..._

_It's not that simple..._

_Isn't it?_

"Little dove, come inside, yes? Balconies make me nervous," she spun around, her heart in her throat at the sound of that voice.

"Maker, Guido," she breathed at the grinning Crow. "Don't sneak up on me." She went to punch him lightly on the shoulder but he was too quick. Grabbing her hand he pulled her into an embrace. She stiffened at the closeness, feeling extremely vulnerable out of her armour. She could smell spiced rum on his breath as he gave her a curious look.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered his hands hot through the light shirt covering the small of her back.

"Let go of me, Guido," she gulped and she shuddered at the heat he left behind.

"As you command, little dove," he gave her a sweeping bow and a playful smile as he walked back into the heat of the room. "Or perhaps little griffin is more appropriate now, hmm?" He shot over his shoulder, amber eyes sparkling. Downing the last of her brandy she followed him.

"I did rather blow my own cover," she sighed closing the doors behind her. Guido was pulling gold threaded cushions from their comfortable slumber on the day sofa and arranging them next to the fire.

"How is the child?"

"She still sleeps."

"After everything she's been through that's no surprise," he sighed, "come, sit," he gestured. "We have much to discuss." She did as she was told, crossing her legs and trying to collect her thoughts as Guido fluttered around the room. When he finally sat opposite her he had procured a bottle of wine. Giving her an appraising look he poured the dark red liquid into two fresh glasses. They sat in silence for awhile, Elaria waiting for him to drink before she did.

"Maker that's good," she gasped as the rich oaky notes ran over her tongue, warming her throat as it went down.

"Well," he grinned. "We are celebrating."

"What exactly?"

"Oh you haven't heard?" he smiled into his glass as he took a sip. "The Hero of Ferelden has come to liberate us Crows from our cruel Masters." The quiet was tense as she felt his eyes rove over her face, she could not bring herself to look at him. "That is why your here, is it not?"

"Truthfully," she risked a look at him but the expectancy in his gaze was far too strong. "That is a by product of my intentions."

"Oh?" he lifted an eyebrow questioningly, refilling her glass. _When did I finish that?_

"I need some information. Information that I'll only get by turning the Crows inside out, not that I am unhappy to be doing so it's just..." _I thought I'd be doing it with Zevran._

"Just what?"

"Nothing," she shook her head breathing out slowly and putting down her glass. She turned her face towards the fire, loosing herself in its pulsating warmth and her drifting thoughts.

"Elaria?" She almost jumped out of her skin when he said her name; it seemed like an age since anyone had called her by it.

"Yes?"

"I do not want to be seeming to pry," he moved his body closer to her as he spoke. "But...the Hero of Ferelden...I have heard many tales, some of them more lies than truths I expect, but all of them depict you as a mage..."

"I am a mage," she said defiantly meeting his eyes.

"But?" he carried on and she stared back into the fire.

"I would rather not discuss it," Elaria said the thought of telling her story to this man far too painful to bear. "I'm sorry."

"As you wish," he sighed putting his hand over hers. The crackling of fire was the only sound for the longest time. She stirred when Guido squeezed her hand.

"Did you hear that?" he asked his head turned towards the door leading out into the hallway. Elaria began to shake her head but then the shouting the corridor became much clearer.

"Wait here," he whispered drawing The Roses Thorne from its new sheath. Before he could make it to the door a loud knocking boomed around the room. Swiftly he opened it, his body ready to pounce. From her position by the fire she could not see into the hallway but when the assassin sheathed his dagger she relaxed.

"Let go of me," an all too familiar voice slurred.

"I found this woman sneaking around the grounds," the deepest female tone Elaria had ever heard explained. "She claims to know you."

"Ah Isabela, I was wondering when you'd join us."

"You know this...woman?"

"It's okay, Irileth, you may let her go."

"You heard him big girl, hands off the booty," Elaria could hear the smirk in the pirate's voice.

"Master Gustavo would not approve of this, Guido," the woman grumbled.

"Gustavo is dead," he said curtly bidding the woman goodnight and primly shutting the door.

Isabela staggered as she moved towards the fire giving Elaria a rum soaked smile as she sat heavily next to her.

"You've got such pretty eyes," she slurred at the Warden putting a heavy arm around her shoulders and burying her dark head into her friend's pale neck.

"And you are very drunk," Elaria grinned shifting to support the drunken pirate.

"Hmmm a fair accusation," Isabela sighed pressing her forehead into Elaria's collarbone. Guido sat gracefully on the cushion opposite watching the two women with a smirk on his face. Abruptly, Isabela sat up.

"Have you told her?" she asked reeling from the sudden movement.

"Not in so many words," Guido responded eyeing Elaria cautiously.

"Oh she's going to be so mad at you," Isabela seemed almost gleeful at the prospect. "I love it when you're angry," she purred at Elaria, pressing her nose into the warmth of the elves throat. "You get this look in your eye that makes me just want to..."

"Why would I be angry at you?" Elaria interrupted unable to keep notes of worry from her voice. It was Guido's turn to not look at her, his amber eyes shifting to the fire then to his hands.

"I may have told a select few people about your involvement in Despotolli's death."

"If 'select people' is what you'd call the clientele of _The Feathered Muse_," Isabela snorted grasping at the wine and drinking straight from the bottle.

"Did you tell them who I am?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Guido winced as she groaned.

"Why?" she asked exasperated. He took a long intake of breath.

"The Crow Masters have already lost control of their ranks; cruel treatment, unpaid tithes and intimidation all breeds a certain apathy, even in a killer. The Guildmaster hasn't been seen in months, some say he is already dead," he wrestled the bottle from Isabela's clutches and took a long draw. "If you were to publically announce your intentions you'll not only rally the remaining Crows around you but pull the disgruntled ones out of hiding."

"You make it sound an easy thing," she whispered, he shrugged offering her the bottle.

"For just anyone perhaps, but you..." his amber eyes had a glow to them that was nothing to do with the fire. "The Master's desperately tried to quiet the talk of how you foiled not one but two assassination attempts, turning their own man to your cause and then protecting him from their supposedly far-reaching wrath. The more they tried to plug the tales the more they were told."

"I wonder who kept telling them," Isabela scoffed giving the Crow an easy smile.

"What are you saying Guido?"

"That your kindness and compassion are legendary, that every Crow holds what you did as the decisive first blow against the old order. That if you reveal your identity they will be falling over themselves to name you Guildmaster."

Elaria was lost for words, she'd long ago realised that what she considered small actions could have a staggering effect on the world around her but this was something else. A whirlpool she had dropped a pebble in, that now rippled in time with her.

"I think Guildmaster Elaria Surana has a lovely ring to it," Isabela purred, twirling her fingers round one of Elaria's loose curls. "We can strip the dark from your hair, let them see you as they imagined you," the Rivani's lips brushed against her sensitive pointed ears.

"You're distracting me," she said, gently pushing the Captain aside.

"From what? Surely you don't need to think about this," said Isabela. "If the thought of having that many men under you doesn't make you squirm with delight then think about all the good you can do. I know how you like people to think you're a paragon of morality, even if I know the truth."

"You are incorrigible," Elaria sighed. Isabela pressed her forehead against Elaria's forcing the mage to look at her. "Do you think I'm ready?" the Warden asked quietly.

"You were born ready, sweet thing," Isabela smiled, the fire glinting in her eyes.

"I don't know enough about the Crows to be a Guildmaster," she turned to Guido.

"I've heard you are a fast learner," he chuckled, "and I shall certainly help you."

Isabela slept by the fire as they talked deep into the night, surrounded by books and parchment, stained in ink, Guido spoke and she listened and wrote. He told her of how the Crows started as an arm of the Chantry, when a small contingency of priests in the isolated hills of Treviso used a locally grown herb to poison their despotic duke. Elegantly he weaved the tales of Crow history and she became lost in his countless stories, of Kings and Queens the assassin's had disposed, of Master's being succeeded by their pupils; often in huge battles between the cells, of how the Crows came to be the most important guild in Antiva and arguably the rest of Thedas. He listed names, of merchant princes, of Masters, of prominent assassins, so quickly that she broke the nib of her quill twice trying to keep up with him. He spoke at length about Guildmaster Ismael Valdez who, in the Age of Storms, was the first to arrange the cells in the way they stood to date; seventeen smaller groups each devoted to its own particular skill sets; The Whores known for their sexual subterfuge and confidence games, The Diplomats, Ignacio's cell, renowned for their quick wit and instant charm though for Elaria the most intriguing were The Shadowborn, marked with distinctive tattoo's they were considered Kings in the art of silent death.

"And how many of these are in our collective pocket, as it were?" she asked her quill hovering over the page. His hesitation made her raise her eyes.

"Two," he murmured eventually. "Ignacio's and my Shadowborn's," when she winced he put up a calming hand. "More will come, the Poisoned Ones are in disarray and _you_ are their rightful Master, whatever Sabrina may say."

"My knowledge of poison is hardly at master level," she sighed, "perhaps I should just let her have the cell." He shook his head at this.

"A Guildmaster needs to be a Master too and Sabrina is...a difficult woman," he sighed. Elaria knew from the tone in his voice that Sabrina was not a topic that he wished to dwell on. "I am sure you have a passing knowledge though, yes? Arainai always lorded his familiarity with toxins, I doubt he would have left his lover uneducated in the arts," he said Zevran's name bitterly and afterwards took a long swig on their third bottle of wine. Elaria stared at him. Shock halting her quill over the page. When he finally met her gaze he winced. "I am sorry, that was entirely inappropriate of me."

"So, the other guilds," she said her voice much calmer than she felt, her stomach a twisting knot at the unexpected intrusion of _his_ name.

"The Whisperer's were the first to disband; it is believed they had information about the Lady of Cats prior to her appearance at the council. Their Master, Aldo Rosetti is dead or at least hidden well enough that no-one can find him," Guido sighed. "If there are any Whisperers left in the city they will hear the stories I've been telling, old habits die hard, especially ones that keep you alive."

"I would imagine that these information gatherers would be very useful allies."

"I'm sure they will flock, like many others, to your side," he smiled. Putting her quill down she stretched, sighing as her bones clicked in protest. Looking up she was surprised to see light creeping into the darkness of the room, cold and grey.

"I should go check on the child," she yawned shuffling the deadness from her legs before she stood. "Then we should both get some rest, I have the feeling tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"As you wish, little dove," he grinned. They gathered up the papers and books around Isabela's still sleeping form. When Elaria put her fur lined cloak over the pirate she stirred but did not wake.

The elven girl slept as well. The violence of her dreams had stilled somewhat, though her face was still tense and her hair matted with sweat. Elaria sat awkwardly on the edge of the small bed. When she stroked the girl's forehead she realised the child was much too warm and pulled back the heavy duvet, leaving only a sheet covering her fragile form. She stayed there for a while in the serene quietness. When she finally broke from her thoughts she was surprised to find the sun almost risen, the grey clouds dispersed, and an immaculate white light was shining through the windows. Gathering up her loose parchments and books she closed the curtains and clicked the door shut behind her.

Though her body was exhausted her mind buzzed. The combination of wine and sleeplessness made for a heavy mixture but the threads of Guido's stories kept her awake. She did not think it strange when she opened the door to the master bedroom.

"Well this is unexpected, little dove."

She dropped her bundle in surprise, books, parchment and ink scattered at her feet. She bent down, stammering apologies as she grasped desperately at her things. _Don't look at him, just don't look, it's simple,_ but Guido was in front of her kneeling, helping her gather her things, unashamed of his nudity.

"Here," he said as they stood passing her things. _Why is this so difficult, it's just a naked man, pull yourself together_.

"I should go," she stammered but when she turned to leave he grabbed her shoulder, his touch sent shivers down her spine that she couldn't hide.

"Why do you deny yourself that which you so obviously want?" Guido breathed, his fingers stroking her lightly on the neck. Taking a deep breath she turned to face him, though her stomach was in tight knots she was determined to meet his gaze.

"I swore a vow," she gritted her teeth at his lyrical laughter.

"Oh? To whom, the Maker?" She shrugged away from his touch as he continued to chuckle.

"To myself." His laughter stopped at that and he gave her a quizzical look.

"To yourself? Then it should be easier to break no?"

"A vow is not for times when there is no temptation."

"Tempting am I," he purred moving closer.

"Yes," she admitted shuffling backwards.

"I think it would be much more fun if you were to give in."

"What would be my worth if I were to do so, Guido?" she asked quietly his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I should go," she said turning away from him.

"Elaria, wait," she stopped but she didn't know why. "Let me put some clothes on and we can both stay here..."

"I don't think..."

"Good, don't think," she could hear him rustling around behind her, when she turned back to him he was fully clothed. "Come, little dove, I promise to be as chaste as a lay sister."

"You obviously know very few lay sisters." Elaria was torn, her mind and her body fighting for two very different things.

_It would be nice though, to sleep next to a warm body._

_Is that all he is to you, a warm body?_

"Really, Guido, I can't," she sighed but he was in front of her, taking her bundle of papers and steering her towards the bed. She sat down heavily.

"Your vow will be much safer in here with me than out there with Isabela," he grinned placing her papers on the desk and blowing out the candles still glowing there. "Better we are both are comfortably rested for the rest of today's trials hmm?"

Sighing she began undoing the laces of her boots, kicking them off she crawled under the sheets fully clothed. When Guido had dampened every light she felt him shuffle under the covers. Good to his word he left an expanse of bed between them.

"Will you answer me one question, little dove," his voice was soft in the darkness, the heavy curtains barring dawn's entrance.

"If I can," when she opened her eyes she could just make out the outline of his face, the mountain of duvet silhouetted against the grey room.

"How did a mage beat a man like Loghain in single combat?" Unexpectedly she found a laugh rising within her and when it burst forth it was her true cackle, a sound she hadn't heard in a long time.

"What's so funny?" she felt him sit up next to her, his eyes roving for an answer in the blackness.

"Nothing I just expected something obscenely personal," she giggled.

"Oh, do you think that I'm so one dimensional?" he chuckled flicking her lightly on the arm before laying back down. "But truthfully, it must have been no easy feat, from all accounts the man was fortress," when she did not immediately reply he continued, "please tell me."

"Perhaps I will," she pondered, "though I don't know if I should give away all my tactical secrets."

"Oh, is it a secret? I thought the entire Ferelden Court was in attendance," she could hear the smile in his voice.

"You have me," she smiled.

"Then tell me."

She did. Speaking in hushed tones against the oppressive blackness she found the story easier to tell than she thought she would. By the time she had finished she was barely awake, yawning the words. She did not remember falling asleep. When she awoke, Guido was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Zevran:**_ _Antiva City._

"I have some news."

"How did you find me?"

"Eyes and ears everywhere," Aldo grinned sliding into the booth and nodding at the innkeeper.

_The Broken Drum_ was situated deep within the dockside Alienage where the stench of tanners and rotten fish was at its worst. The people drawn to such places were usually sombre and quiet, tonight was no different; though the booths were full, only murmurs could be heard from them, punctuated by the occasional wrangled cry. Zevran downed the rest of his brandy and immediately refilled his glass.

"You drink the swill here?"

"It's an acquired taste."

"If you say so," Aldo shrugged leaning back in the booth. "So, I thought you'd be a bit cheerier after your find, everyone at the _Nymph's Song_ is celebrating this woman's generosity. Who did you say she was again?"

"I didn't," Zevran grunted.

"Ah, quick as ever," Aldo smirked. He appraised the elf for a while as he drank, taking in his slumped shoulders, his matted hair and his sullen countenance. "I know these aren't the best of times but, are you alright? You seem particularly...melancholy this evening."

"I'm fine," Zevran lied, slamming his cup to the table and pouring more of the foul liquid into it.

"Well do you want to hear my news or not?"

"Is it good or bad?"

"That depends entirely on your perspective," Aldo drawled cocking his head to one side.

"Just spit it out Aldo, I'm in no mood for these games," he barked.

"As you wish," The Whisperer sighed. "I have it on good authority that it is not the Cat Lady carving up the Crows," he continued lowering his voice.

"On whose 'good' authority is this?"

"Two members of my old cell are still hiding in the Crow Quarter, they are as reliable as any source," Aldo smirked. "But it is not who it isn't that's the interesting part," he leaned forward on the wooden table and it creaked in protest.

"Tell me," Zevran spat trying to meet the man's eyes. _I wish he'd stop swaying. _

"You could be more grateful you know, most people pay for my information," when Zevran's eyes narrowed Aldo grimaced. "Fine, fine," he muttered eventually. "They sat that it's the Hero of Ferelden."

Zevran could feel the Whisperer watching closely for his reaction and though his insides twisted and coiled he kept his mask firmly in place.

"I doubt it," he tried to feel the incredulity in his voice but alarm bells were beginning to ring. _That woman is your Warden,_ Rosa's voice echoed in the chambers of his mind.

"I wouldn't be so sure about your doubts," Aldo smirked. "Reports from Ferelden suggest that the Hero has not been seen in months, their Templar Knight Commander tried to name her apostate and send hunters out to trace her but so far the King has blocked his wishes."

"How do you know...?"

"Do you think my net only extends out into Antiva?" the Whisperer asked. "Everywhere remember?"

Zevran pressed the heels of his hands onto his aching head. _Why have you come here Elaria, why now? This is the last thing I need._

"I thought this would be good news, if the stories are true you two were once...ah...close?"

"Once," Zevran said bitterly, motioning at the innkeeper to bring another bottle of the so-called brandy. The grubby man was quick to respond squeezing his rotund form from behind the bar. Zevran flicked a silver coin at him after he'd poured two cups. They were silent until he'd waddled back behind the bar. Aldo sniffed at his cup before pushing it aside, untouched. Zevran was drunk. He'd taken up his post in the lonely booth before noon and had steadily polished off three bottles of the cheap swill. Thoughts of Elaria in Antiva soaked themselves in the brandy rotting in his stomach.

"We could go and see for ourselves? I could get us into the Crow Quarter..."

"No," Zevran shouted. Several patrons of the pub gave them hostile glares.

"Look, Zevran, we need allies to defeat the Cats," Aldo whispered, "and our prospects of getting those are dwindling. The Crows are the only force in Antiva that can face her." He didn't respond. He was barely listening. Pieces of a puzzle that he had long been trying to put together had finally fallen into place. "My friend, we need to talk about this."

Zevran rose from the booth, his vision spinning and unfocused. He put a hand heavily on the table to steady himself. Lights twinkled before his eyes and he closed them, taking a deep breath.

"Where are you going?" Aldo asked getting to his feet and trying to help the staggering elf.

"I need to talk to that blasted mage."

The streets of Antiva were billowing with laughter, music and smoke. Every creature of the night could be found on the damp streets, looking for whatever particular fix they cared to indulge. Zevran ignored it all. The Warden had not been in the forefront of his mind for the longest time, shut up, safe in her lofty Amarathine tower. _She'll wait,_ he'd told himself for the longest time, _she'll wait_, _she'll wait._ He should have known her better. Now she strode, flinging open doors her hand had long since shut, in the aching corridors of his mind.

People shoved passed him. Twice he stumbled in the mud, righted by the quick hands of someone he thought he should recognise. _Aldo, he told you she was here remember. She. Elaria. You with your green eyes and compassionate soul. You, with your torrent of hair every man wanted to dip his hand into, I who finally did. Has Anders? _ The thought stumbled into his already intoxicated mind and no amount of his logical, practical waters would quench the fire that came with it. Images he flinched against, tried to suppress, convulsed and twisted inside him. _Why wouldn't she do it? He's everything she is; warm, compassionate, caring. Everything I am not._ He did not notice himself opening the door to _the Nymph's Song._

Faces. So many faces. Their smiles and laughter mocking his rage. His stomach roiled though it had nothing to do with the sudden hot sticky air. When people looked at him their faces dropped. The music stopped as he began parting the people, searching every eye, a hunter stalking his prey.

"Zevran, what's going on?" A voice that made him think words like _mother_ and _severe_ boomed over him. He ignored her and pressed onwards, though the tangled vine of people. Suddenly he was free of the mass. Tables and chairs all occupied, mocking grinning faces everywhere, their eyes blacker than coal. A laugh he recognised made him turn. He said something to the mage as he approached but he couldn't make out his own voice over the buzzing in his mind.

Zevran leapt. His world became a tumble of glass, splinters and screams as he grasped at Anders robes. His fist came up in an arch that seemed to last forever before breaking into the mages nose. Hands, strong and firm pulled him backwards. He fought them too. His feet left the ground as their hands found purchase.

Angry voices were stirring around him but he could make out none of the words. He sensed a great space opening up behind them as the Veil began to shred.

"He's drunk, Ander's please." _Sister. Kind. Vita._

"He just attacked me for no reason."

_No reason._ He struggled again but was held. When his eyes focused on Anders' face he saw the mage dabbing a stream of blood from his nose. _Good._

"You lied," Zevran slurred.

"You're drunk," said Anders shaking his head, "I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Elaria," Zevran almost spat her name. That stopped the mage in his tracks. He eyed Zevran suspiciously.

"Enough!" Rosa, again. "Everybody out." Feet shuffling, so much movement. He was released and soon it was just the three of them. Small slits of blood appeared on his palm as he pressed his nails into them. "I don't know what your boy's differences are but I will not have _violence_ ruining my custom."

"He started it."

"Like children, both of you," Rosa tutted. "Now, you'll explain yourself Zevran."

_Explain myself. _Words came and died in his throat, made ashen by the fiery concoction of anger and fear.

"He lied," was all he could manage again, hoarse and bitter. A heavy silence. He moved towards Anders, his fingers clenching, wanting nothing more than to strike his worries against the other man's face. Rosa's leathery hand stopped him.

"No more, Zevran," her voice a knife's edge, dangerous and sharp. He thought of hitting her but ropes of reason brought him back.

"Tell me how you know her." Those flashes of images once again, Elaria's soft sighs against this other mans chest. A new animal tore it's fangs against Zevran's soul, one he had been so sure he'd never feel. _I make no claims over you,_ how hollow those words had rung even as he'd said them.

"I'm a Grey Warden," Anders crossed his arms defensively. "She recruited me." For some reason he'd assumed time had stood still for his Warden, it had become difficult to imagine her recklessly storming into battle without being at her side. _But she must have. How could she not, it's who she is. _And then had others replaced him? Not just him but them all. Were these strangers as close to her affections as they had been, as _he _had been. Brandy sharpened the jealousy, honing it into rage."Though I really don't see how any of this concerns you." And that _hurt._

"She never told you about me?" The question flung from his drunken lips before he could retract it, before he could think about it. _You left her without a word and expected her to wait, why should a woman like her wait for someone like you, who could offer her nothing but a broken soul. Why would she want to talk about you? To think about you?_

"Perhaps," Anders eyes were cool pools of disdain as he looked down on the elf. "Enough for me to know not to trust you." Another blade puncturing the worn out walls of his heart. _Why would she trust me, after everything, I left, not a word, I should of told her, should of told her, just once._ Over the foggy paths he traversed a bell rang clear as day, clanging its questions out of his mouth.

"Why is she here?" Zevran could hear his rage becoming louder, heart throbbing in his throat blood rushing in his ears. Silence pensive this time. Anders was evaluating him.

"It's not my business to say." Zevran's hand twitched at the dagger strapped to his waist.

"Tell me, now," he roared. Rosa got between them this time, shoving him backwards. The atmosphere shifted as the Veil began to tear. Zevran watched flames dance over Anders fingertips. The threat brought new waves of anger crashing to the surface.

"As I have said," Anders began through gritted teeth. "It's not my place to say, and none of your concern." He saw that same feeling shift behind the mages eyes before, the one that had started his mistrust.

"You're in love with her," he spat. Anders did not respond. "Have you fucked her?" He growled into the silence unable to control the claws of jealousy that scraped against him. The mage screwed up his face at his vulgarity.

"She's more to me than just a piece of meat," he could see the thinly veiled accusation even through his drunken rage.

"No then," Zevran smirked, "but not through lack of trying."

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything," the mage blustered. "Are you angry that I lied to you? Angry that I tried to protect her?" The mage shook his head, then suddenly met his eyes, understanding glimmering behind them. "You're angry that she's here, aren't you?"

Anders struck a deep chord. A deep, truthful chord that resonated its eerie harmony through his heart. His time in Ferelden had felt a dream when he'd returned to the never changing shores of Antiva, a warm and comfortable illusion. _It could not have been as beautiful as I remember it, nothing is that perfect._ The thought of that dream, that sweet, honey-scented dream stumbling in all its purity into the haunted, corrupt streets of Antiva filled him with anger. _This is no place for you Elaria,_ he wanted to scream but he knew it was too late.

"You have no idea what she's been through to get here," Anders was raging now, the fires advancing harmlessly over his balled fist. The two men were pushed apart when Anders approached him. "What she ever saw in a whoreson like you I'll never know."

Reason vanished. Its tiny anchoring threads snapping under the pressure. Instinct took over. He did not remember how the pommel of the dagger found his hand. He rushed the mage. The stench of burning hair and flesh that distantly Zevran knew was his. He was beyond feeling such pain. They were on the floor, turning, tumbling over one another. A whir of boots and limbs, fire and steel. His blade found a fleshy sheath. Warm blood pooled over his hands, spurting. Shrill screams, piercing through him, somewhere far away.

He flew. Legs an aching trembling mess. He did not know where to go, only that he must. Fast. People stared at him but he did not notice or care. He ran until mud caked over the blood covering him. _Anders' blood. Don't think, just run._


	23. Chapter 23

The man seemed to like her, but you could never tell with people like Tyrus Netto. His lizard like eyes preened over her armoured flesh, his dramatic and over fond gestures always breathing just too close to her. His Pockmarked skin had grown leathery under the Antivian sun. With gnarled hands he greased his silver hair away from his face.

The Madam, a statuesque beauty draped in bold silks looked a taciturn sort. Her marble eyes took in everything, surveying Guido's study with an unreadable expression. Though she only spoke when Elaria directly asked her questions, the Warden could tell the woman missed nothing.

"I hope you've got a strong stomach, my lady," he spoke the King's Tongue with a haze of accent she could not divine, emphasising with a twang the last word he spoke.

"Oh?" replied Elaria. She cocked her head to one side, refilling his emptied whiskey glass.

"I confess a certain fear that my brethren will not take as kindly as I do to being emasculated in such a way." She felt Guido shift behind her.

"Whatever could you mean?" she smiled, feigning ignorance. Tyrus met her steely gaze with an eyebrow raised before sipping his drink.

"There are those who still hold more traditional values on the roles of women, not modern thinkers like ourselves of course, but still they do exist."

_Ourselves?_ she snorted internally. From her position behind the desk she could see Madam Annabella, standing stoic clean cut, in her peripherals.

"I'll be sure to quickly assail any concerns on that account," said Elaria. Her painted smile tightened. Tyrus' chortle was deep and throaty.

"Oh I do not doubt it, my dear," he grinned, his hand spidering its way to flutter over hers just for a second. "Come on, Bella," he instructed suddenly rising, pushing his chair backwards across the floor with a scrape. "We've taken up too much of this good woman's time," he downed the rest of his whiskey.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," she said, standing too, extending out her hand. Straightening up, the man was at least a foot taller than her. He peered at the pale limb quizzically, before taking it lightly in his own and, bending down, brushed his bristled lips against it.

"The pleasure was all mine, my dear," he crooned. The Madam gave her a brief smile and a nod before turning to follow her Master. The door clicked shut behind them.

Elaria relaxed, falling back into the armchair. Guido slid into the vacated seat opposite, legs dangling over the arm. It had already been a long day and the clocktower in the _Plaza del Corvi _had rung noon only an hour before. Guido had been right. Revealing her identity had brought Crows flying from their hidden nests, landing with varying elegance at her feet.

Tyrus Netto and his silent Madam had been the last in a long stream of visitors and by far the most noteworthy. The Courtesans had been the only cell of Crows that had continued taking contracts during the turmoil with the Cat Lady because, Guido argued, of their insignificance in open warfare. 'Whores cannot fight,' she remembered him saying, 'but they can certainly kill.' Netto, their Master, was a politician at heart; she had seen it in his careful appraisal of her, his well tailored suit, his squirming around the subject. 

"I wouldn't trust him, you know," Guido said, trying to be offhand. "If you like I'll see to his disposal personally." His grin turned dangerous, white teeth gleaming.

"I can deal with men like Netto," she sighed. "I have something he wants."

"Oh?"

"Gold."

"He seems rich enough to me."

"Enough is never enough for Netto's type," she sighed. "Greed is a grave, his coprse will fill it in time. Until then he could be useful."

"As you wish," he shrugged. Leaping from his chair he stalked towards the marble fireplace, poking the flames ever higher. "I hope your pockets are deep enough to accommodate his needs."

"Saving the world, it turns out, pays pretty well," Elaria grinned as he chuckled, a rich vibrant sound that suited the charming bard too precisely to be uncultivated.

"I shall remember this the next time we go drinking," he turned to face her. "Which should be tonight."

Before she could respond a commotion of voices, loud and unsettled, came from the hallway. Paranoid hands flickered over the hilts of their blades. The thudding knock was unexpected.

"Enter," she shouted. Immediately the door flung open. Seven entered only two of which she recognised. Irileth, Guido's cellmate, a giantess of an elf, strode fully armoured behind the rabble, fury etched into every line of her face. Dragged by the hair, shouting and scuffling against the marble floor was Sabrina.

"Let go of me."

"Ungrateful bitch."

"Silence!" Elaria roared over the crescendo of voices. Immediately she was obeyed. "Release her at once," she commanded to the stocky man grasping at a handful of Sabrina's hair. He did so. A slap resounded as the bruised and beaten Crow hit the marble floor. Nobody helped the injured woman to her feet, though she staggered, shivering with rage. She made a desperate bid for the door but the same gruff brow beaten Rivani who'd dragged her in, caught the Crow around the waist slamming her brutally down. A follow up kick cracked Sabrina's ribs. The woman howled. Before his boot could rise again Elaria was at his side, a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Enough," she commanded and he stepped away from the wreck of a woman.

"Sabrina?" she whispered, crouching next to the shuddering Crow.

Elaria foresaw the attack. Sabrina's slashes were savage but sloppy, grasping her left hand to her chest she moved with clumsy shuffles that Elaria predicted and danced around. There was uproar on either side of her, but before the men could restrain the half crazed Crow, Elaria had whirled under the desperate cuts and knocked the woman off her feet. She disarmed her attacker, cracking the Crow's wrist against the marble floor.

"Be careful it's poisoned," she said, kicking the greasy dagger across the floor to Guido, out of Sabrina's reach.

"Void, take you," Sabrina screeched, grasping her broken wrist to her broken ribs. "You blightsucking knife eared whore."

"Are you quite done?" she asked in a threatening whisper. She received no response other than whimpers. "Will you let me search you or are you going to need restraining?" she asked, softer this time. She knelt cautiously, branching out her hand.

"Don't touch me, maleficar," Sabrina spat, shuffling backwards.

Elaria had seen that look on many faces, a potent mixture of primal fear and hatred. '_People will always hate what they can't comprehend.' How right you were, sweet Morrigan, about so many things._ She stood, breathing deeply. The Crows anxiously twittered amongst themselves.

"Irileth," Elaria turned to the warrior elf. "Search her, please."

There was a tussle. The wounded woman kicked and screeched as the steel shod elf pulled her to her feet. Each blow that connected hit armour, others were blocked instinctively. Finally, Sabrina relented, hiding her bruised red face behind strands of hair that had escaped in her exertions. Only crying out when the elf's hand brushed over her cracked ribs.

"She is unarmed," Irleith's deep voice vibrated in a monotone. Elaria took another deep breath. _Why am I going to do this?_

"Get a message to Deliah, the elven healer Ignacio keeps. Put her in a room, a room not a cell. Station yourself or another of the Shadowmarked outside, no-one comes or goes except me and the healer."

There was dissent. She stood the epicentre of the storm, unable to pick out single voices in the chaos though the tone was very clear. They wanted Sabrina's death. _Such an easy thing, to slit this wretch's throat and be done with it. She wouldn't struggle, she's half in love with death, I know that look._ Guido's hand on her shoulder made her look up. The shouting had stopped. The only sound was the desperate gasps of her prey.

"It would be justice, Elaria," Guido muttered into her ear, his fingers discreetly stroking the hollow of her neck.

"There is no such thing, my friend," she felt him shaking his head, refused to look into eyes she knew would be clouded with disbelief. "Irileth, my order stands, please take her."

"No!" Sabrina screamed falling to her knees. Irileth half carried the distraught woman. The captive no longer fought but sobbed incoherent words that echoed down the hallway.

Silence. The remaining Crows looked to one another, feet shuffling, unable to meet the intent stare of the Warden.

"Explain yourselves," she said finally. The Rivani stepped forwards, removing his helmet and nodding his welcome to Guido.

"Elaria, allow me to introduce Lorenzo Risi, a Crow of the Twelfth cell," said Guido.

"Messer," Lorenzo bowed to her, rigid in his armour. "May I say what an honour it is to meet you."

"You may, it seems," she said, "Perhaps not bring anyone intent on killing me next time?"

"Let me apologise, it was careless of us not to check if she was armed," his wiry eyebrows knit themselves into a self depreciating knot. '_Let me, May I'...What did Despotolli do to this man?_

"I appreciate a man quick to see his mistakes," Elaria smiled. She put an amicable hand on the man's shoulder but when he flinched under the contact she quickly removed it. "Now, why did you bring her here?"

"Please, milady, I mean messer," he fumbled his hands twitching in their gesticulation. "We meant you no harm." He looked a man too broken to be a liar.

"I don't doubt you, Lorenzo," she dipped her head slightly, trying to get him to meet her gaze.

"Thank you, milady," he whispered. Swallowing he looked up at her. "We simply came for answers. When we saw Despotolli's head we couldn't believe our eyes," the others murmured their agreement. "Milady, you must understand, the man was..." he faltered, choking on his words.

"Cruel, manipulative, merciless?"

"Eternal," he managed slowly. "We never thought he could just be killed, we were doomed to be his forever, we certainly couldn't believe that Sabrina was the one to cut him down."

"Because she wasn't," Guido said.

"As I am now aware," Lorenzo cringed. "We just needed confirmation." 

As a group they looked to Elaria. Guido attempted to suppress the tension he felt, she saw it in the twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"Sabrina, Guido and I were all instrumental in Despotolli's death," she paused refusing to look into Guido's disapproving eyes. "I am told it was a demon that I summoned that struck the final blow."

"And as the demon is dead and not exactly an appropriate heir, I strongly urge you to name Elaria your new Master," Guido said.

"Of course," Lorenzo nodded. "Though a sorry lot we are, Milady. Us five are the only fully fledged assassins left. The elves of our cell were some of the first turncloaks, left for the Cats the rumours go, though Despotolli would kill a man for saying so." He checked over his shoulder as though expecting his Master to strike him down from beyond the grave. "Three of our girls are missing; Sabrina said he'd killed them. Is it true?"

"I fear so," Elaria sighed. "When we found him he had a dead girl, Clara I think her name was."

"That bastard," he spat looking grave. "Thank you, for killing him, I mean, after everything..." he broke off looking away from her. "Well... just... thank you."

"It was my pleasure."

Guido stalked the ground in front of her like a caged mabari. She bit into the apple. Succulent juices escaped as determined teeth broke through its skin. She licked her lips.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I'll listen when you sit down and have something to eat," she said, her mouth half full.

"I'm not hungry."

He continued to pace. She shrugged, taking another crunch into the sweet fruit. _Apples are really excellent in Antiva._ She chewed thoughtfully. Guido relented, thudding into the chair opposite her with none of his usual grace. She cut a slice of the apple pairing it with a piece of soft Orlesian cheese and delicately popped them into her mouth. _Bliss_, she thought relaxing into the folds of her chair. He watched her closely.

"You are a frustrating woman," Guido said.

"You're not the first to say so," she sighed. "Now eat something." Rolling his eyes he plucked an apple from the bunch. He tossed the red fruit between his hands before finally biting into its flesh.

"You should have killed her."

"Why?"

"Because she tried to kill you," he gasped, exasperated.

"I'm not one to hold a grudge," Elaria shrugged. Guido was about to say more when a light knock on the door preceded Irileth.

"A letter," she boomed, crossing the floor between the door and the desk in five easy strides and handing the parchment to Elaria. The Warden broke the seal cautiously with her dagger. She read as Irileth closed the door sharply behind her.

"Another one of our flock seeking audience?" he asked.

"Netto, inviting us both to 'a small gathering of likeminded influencials,' his words not mine."

"Merchant princes and Madams vying for your favour no doubt."

"Or a political trap meant to discredit me," she rose from her seat. "Either way, it sounds like fun."

"Where are we going?" Guido asked leaving his chair as she did. He fell in behind her as she strode out of the room and into the half deserted corridors.

"To speak to Sabrina." The sound of his footfalls stopped. "Let us not argue over this Guido," she whispered before he could begin. They walked together in silence.

The barracks that once had housed newly recruited Shadowborn were eerily quiet, the distant tapping of Irileth's armoured feet the only sound. As they approached Deliah slipped from the room clasping her leather satchel to her chest.

"How is she?"

"A few cracked ribs, a broken wrist," the elven healer replied curtly. "The patient was unwilling to be treated. I had to restrain her."

"My apologises," Elaria said.

"I have plenty of people desperate for my help," Deliah's tone was still sharp. "Not least those Dalish children you rescued."

"How are they?"

"Better than expected, most of their physical wounds were superficial. Of course they are traumatised, though every single one is grateful for their lives. Unlike this viper," she pointed aggressively to Sabrina's door, "none of _them_ have begged me for death."

"She's been through quite a lot I understand," Elaria said.

"Yes, well haven't we all," Deliah sighed, her squared shoulders slumping. "I've seen too much death, this whole city prices the Maker's gift so lowly."

"Then why stay?"

"It is here a healer's arts are needed more than anywhere."

_Just like Anders _Elaria thought._ I should have sent word to the Nymph's song._ _Maker Anders, I've been a terrible friend to you._

"How is the mage child?" Deliah asked breaking into the Warden's distant thoughts.

"Still she sleeps, I've begun to believe she will starve before she wakes," Elaria spoke softly.

"Trauma can do strange things to our connection with the Fade," Deliah said, "as you well know." Guido bristled. "I will go and check on her, though I fear there's little we can do."

She watched the woman's slight form disappear with a creeping melancholy. She paused, taking in the moment. Particles of dust danced in the streaming light. Irileth's steps still beat a rhythmical tune. When Guido's hand pressed against the small of her back she jumped.

"Wait here, my friend," she breathed and though he looked ready to argue the fragility of her voice stopped him. He nodded. His eyebrows dark lines of worry. The ironwork of the handle was cool in her hands. Taking a deep breath she turned it.

None of the warm light reached into the room beyond. Cold grey shadows reflected cold grey furnishings. One of the windows had been broken and a biting breeze blustered in. Elaria shuddered. Sabrina sat on a straw stuffed mattress that had no frame, her blank stare fixed before her feet.

The silence was long and painful. Elaria as patient as the stone floor she sat upon. Her own thoughts drifted. A desperate part of her did not wish to have this conversation. Thinking of Anders had exaggerated the sting of loneliness in this strange land. Her friend's faces flashed in front of her. _I wish Leliana was here, she'd know what to say to make this right._

"What do you want?" the cracked voice broke Elaria's meditation.

"For you to talk to me," Elaria responded quietly.

"I have nothing to say to you."

Elaria was patient. She had spent years at the Circle in a silence as stubborn as Sabrina's and knew those closed off feelings. _What would Leliana do?_ She tried to cast her mind back to times when the Orelesian had been her constant companion, but the hole the other woman left was still too raw. The silence stretched onwards and soon it became obvious that she would have to be the one to break it. The Crow, with her hunched back, fingers entangled in fistfuls of golden hair, was in no position to talk.

"Although I would not like to presume how you feel, I'd like you to know that ...," Elaria broke off, all her words seeming ineffectual. The pause brought a stirring from the Crow. Though her puffy red face drew back in a snarl the anger did not quite reach her eyes. Elaria breathed deeply. "I know what it's like to hate someone beyond the description of words. I know what it's like to spend your every waking moment in fear and paranoia. I can only begin to imagine the pain of having your vengeance ripped away."

Sabrina looked at her, a strange expression on her face. The stillness between them was different this time. Elaria waited, evaluating every word she'd said with heavy hand.

"What do you want from me?" Sabrina gasped finally. "For years I lived for his death. I planned and plotted ways I could catch him off guard, did things I'm not proud of doing." She cracked, tears streaming down her face. "And you," her sobbing became rhythmical, a dark heaving sound almost like laughter. "You come here and in a _day _he is dead. Gone. Years I bore his torture, his manipulation, his abuse secure in the knowledge that I would be the one to twist a blade through that snide smile. And now..." heaving she stared at Elaria. "Now I have _nothing,_" she whispered the words hotly. "So tell me, Hero of Ferelden, what exactly do you want from me?"

"For you to live," Elaria said meeting Sabrina's hysterical gaze.

"Why?"

"If not for yourself then for the people who need you..."

"Nobody needs me."

"What about those children we found. You know the pain they've been through. _You_ rescued them, now live to see that rescue through."

Evening was beginning to draw her cloak over the crisp autumnal skies as Elaria brushed the damp from her hair. She watched the first stars begin to glimmer as her deft hands found strands, plaiting the tangled mess into two efficient buns. Whenever she caught sight of herself in the looking glass the reflection of her red hair seemed strange. _Like taking off a mask._

Checking the sharpness of both her daggers she slid them into their sheaths before fastening them about her waist. She looked up. Taking a deep breath she tried to stretch the tiredness from her body. _Wake up Elaria, it's going to be a long night._

She found Guido in the plush purple lounge, his feet propped up on an ornately carved table, brandy in hand. He grinned as she entered.

"A drink before we leave little dove?" he said patting the cushion next to him. She sat on the stool opposite and poured herself a glass. He leaned forward, gracefully, like water. She sipped her drink cautious of her pounding heart. _It's those bloody eyes_ she thought looking away.

"So," he said his voice hot with more than brandy. "What are you expecting this evening?"

A sharp rapping at the door stopped her answer. They both stood on reflex as Guido bid them enter. Two assassins she vaguely recognised stood on either side of a man she did not.

"Caught this one sneaking round the gardens, he said he had a message for the Warden," one of the flanking Crows explained.

"Please milady, my master says it's of the utmost importance," the bound man shifted uncomfortably.

"And who is your master?" asked Guido, moving towards the captive, his fingers dancing over the hilt of his blade.

"Aldo Rossetti, messir."

"Rossetti is dead," said Guido, his eyes flashing dangerously as he drew the steel from its sheath.

"I want to hear the message," Elaria interjected her hand on Guido's arm.

"It concerns your friend milady, Anders," her breath caught in her throat.

"Speak," she urged him quickly.

"Milady, he's been wounded," the man spluttered out staring at The Rose's thorn still glistening at his throat. Her world spun. _Maker, you'd better be alright Anders or I'll never forgive myself._

"How does your Master know this," she choked out.

"He's staying at the whorehouse, at the _Nymph's Song_."

"If I find out you're lying to me I will cut your throat," she said, guilt wounding her. The man's brow furrowed. "Take him away." The Crows cluttered out of the room.

"This is clearly a trap," Guido said as she paced.

"Even if it is then they know too much," she groaned. "I'll have to spring it."

"_We'll_ have to spring it."

"I need you to go to Netto's."

"You can't possibly mean to leave me alone with those people whilst you're out there risking your life."

"There's no-one else I trust with this," she drew her long black cloak about her but before she could pull up the hood Guido's hand clasped about her arm. This close she could clearly see the flecks of amber within the sea of dusty brown that were his eyes.

"Afterwards I'm coming find you," she could feel his breath on her cheek. Her skin tingled when he lowered his forehead to press against hers.

"Thank you, Guido," she stepped out of his embrace but he pulled her back.

"Be careful, Elaria," he squeezed her hand.

"You too."


End file.
